


Pin My Wings

by geekogecko (Jedijae)



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Combat Violence, Family Drama, Gen, Novel, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-09-27 11:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 65,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jedijae/pseuds/geekogecko
Summary: Anna longs to forge her own path, different from Elsa's expectations of her. Chafing under the restrictions her elder sister imposed, Anna left the palace to find that path, a path that led to her standing in an airplane, wind roaring through the open door, ready to jump into her future. Snow Sisters. Modern AU.





	1. Pin My Wings

Pin My Wings

 

**[C130 rollin’ down the strip]**

 

Anna squirmed in her seat as the C130 Hercules rumbled down the runway.  She couldn’t squirm much, not in the narrow web seat with her right shoulder mashed against the guy next to her, her main chute on her back and her reserve across her chest, and her knees pressed painfully into those of the soldier across from her.  And she'd thought spending three hours in the rigging shed was bad.  Three minutes on the aircraft and she was anxious to get off. 

She took several deep breaths, fighting the slight claustrophobia caused by her restricted movement.  The pungent odor of sweat and anxiety tickled her nostrils.  She figured this was the Army’s way of ensuring that no one chickened out on a drop. Make the airplane so uncomfortable that the jumpers couldn’t wait to get out of it.  If she wasn’t already the first jumper, Anna thought she would probably climb over the other soldiers to get to the door.

A small privilege, being in the first seat, and the first one she’d asked for in the year since she’d left the castle.

The rumbling ceased, and Anna’s stomach dipped as the plane lifted off.  The roar of the four turboprops still thundered in her ears, but the bone-deep vibration ceased as soon as the Herc’s wheels left the runway. She was relieved to be off the ground, and she wondered if that made her a little crazy.

Of course, Elsa thought she was a lot crazy.

 

**[Airborne trooper gonna take a little trip]**

 

_You want to do what?_

Joining the military seemed perfectly logical to Anna; she was just the spare, after all.  So what if she was technically the Crown Princess and Elsa’s heir? She needed to do _something_ to serve Arendelle.  Something other than charities, entertaining dignitaries, and very occasionally, representing Elsa abroad.  Not that these weren’t important, but Anna wanted more.

 Besides, she wouldn’t be heir forever.  Elsa was still young, with plenty of time to find a suitable man, marry, and produce an heir of her own body.  Not that she’d shown any inclination to do so, but still.

_Anna, why on earth would you want to do that?_

_I want to_ do _something. There’s plenty of precedence. Look at Prince Harry.  He was a serving officer for almost ten years._  

_That's different.  He’s down to what, fifth in line now?_

_Don't even go there.  William and Frederik both served.  So did Victoria, for that matter.  We have compulsory service, Elsa.  I’m twenty-one years old, I should be doing this already!  Why am I exempt?_

_You know why._

_That was a long time ago._

_Not long enough._

_When, then? When is long enough, Elsa?!_

_When I say it is!_

_You can’t shelter me forever!_

Ice crackled across the floor; snow swirled about Elsa’s office, which seemed to be the only room in the castle where Anna saw her anymore.  And then only by appointment, Anna thought bitterly.  Accusations were thrown about, hurtful words exchanged. Anna stormed out.  Elsa couldn't stop her, not legally anyway. Physically, yes, but Anna was willing to bet her sister wouldn't go that far.  And she was right.

What she hadn't counted on was the silence in her wake. 

 

**[Mission unspoken, destination unknown]**

 

She figured Elsa would get over it.

Anna bulled ahead with her plan, slogging her way through the Krigsskolen.  She was abysmal at some things (room inspections, go figure) and exceptional at others (marksmanship, much to her surprise), but found an odd sort of satisfaction in simply being Cadet Anna Arendelle, rather than Her Royal Highness The Crown Princess Anna, Duchess of Froststal, etc, etc, etc. 

She discovered a reservoir of inner toughness that she never knew she had.  A well to tap when she was cold or hungry or exhausted.  When she faced yet another muddy hillside while teetering under an eighty-pound pack, or stared across the combatives pit at a hulking man more than twice her size. 

(She'd won that fight too, and given a gleeful, blow-by-blow account of it to Revel over the phone as she waited for her broken nose to be set.)

The soft, pampered princess that had entered the Krigsskolen had beaten a hasty retreat.

Yet the silence stretched on.  Unanswered letters, unacknowledged texts, calls that went straight to voice mail. Oh, Anna wasn't completely cut off - there were always goody boxes from Gerda, encouraging texts from Revel, and letters from Kai filled with the latest castle gossip - but there was nothing from the one person whose acknowledgement she wanted most.

Graduation was bittersweet. Kai and Gerda pinned her second lieutenant bars for her.  The media took conspicuous notice of the Queen's absence.

 

**[Don’t even know if she’s ever comin’ home]**

 

Anna headed off to parachute training school.  She buried her pain in the sawdust pits, where she wasn’t even Second Lieutenant Arendelle, but roster number Alpha Two-Six; where she and the other 'legs' performed endless numbers of pushups and flutter kicks; where they threw themselves repeatedly to the ground to practice parachute landings, leaped from towers mocked up as aircraft, all under the sadistic oversight of the Black Hats, NCO instructors who showered them with spittle and invectives.

_You might be an officer out there, Alpha Two-Six, but in here you're just another dirty leg.  Now get in the front leaning rest!_

_Yes, sergeant!  How many, sergeant?_

_Until I get tired!_

Anna spent more time in the front leaning rest position than she did on her feet.           

 

**[Stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door]**

 

"TEN MINUTES!" the jumpmaster yelled, holding up both hands.

"TEN MINUTES, TEN MINUTES!” the trainees echoed.

Butterflies flapped in Anna's stomach, and her knees bounced in a fidgety dance that earned her a glare from the soldier across from her.  What was his name again?  Borgman? Bjorgman?  She couldn't see his nametag, and honestly, in their utilities and buzz cuts, all the guys looked alike anyway.  Only this one's size distinguished him from all the others; he looked even more uncomfortable than she felt.  She gave him a sheepish smile and stilled her knees, but seconds later, her fingers were drumming along the sides of her reserve chute.

"GET READY!” came the next command.

Moment of truth.  _I’m getting ready to voluntarily exit an airplane that’s still in flight_.  She didn’t have to do it.  She could get the jumpmaster’s attention, he would move her up to a seat behind the cockpit, and she could leave the plane in a normal manner - that is, when it landed safely back at the airfield.  Then she would do the Duffle Bag Drag, the walk of shame from Paratrooper Training Company to the holding company, home of the failures and dropouts.

Nope, not happening. She was ready.

_I was born ready!_

“OUTBOARD PERSONNEL, STAND UP!”  The jumpmaster gestured upward in a sweeping motion with both arms.

Anna struggled to stand, the bulky equipment and tight leg straps hindering her movement.  Just when she’d made it to her feet, the plane bucked, throwing her on top of Borgman (Bjorgman?).  Her Kevlar helmet clonked against his, and he scowled.  Her face heated up as she tried to get off him. He helped by giving her a big shove, which nearly launched her back into her seat.  She finally managed to get herself more or less upright, spreading her feet apart to keep her balance.

“INBOARD PERSONNEL, STAND UP!”

Now all the jumpers crammed in a tight line, and the breathing room she’d enjoyed for a brief second was gone.  At least she was in front, with only Borgman (no, it was definitely Bjorgman) mashed up against her back, instead of being pinched in between two other jumpers. 

“HOOK UP!” the jumpmaster commanded, holding up both hands with his index and middle fingers crooked.

Anna reached up, trying to get the hook of the narrow yellow static line around the anchor cable over her head.  Bouncing and rolling right along with the aircraft, she finally managed to time it right, and felt the static line’s snaplink click into place.  She gave it a quick tug to make sure it was secure.

“CHECK STATIC LINES!”

Anna ran her hand along the static line from the hook all the way to where it routed over her right shoulder.  She would have to trust Bjorgman to check it from there to where it zig-zagged over the back of her chute, ending at the deployment bag that would pull the chute out when she jumped.  She looped a four-inch bight into the line and squeezed it in her fist.

“CHECK EQUIPMENT!”

Anna traced her free hand over her helmet chin strap and parachute straps. All okay. Quick release clips all properly fastened.  She could feel Bjorgman patting along her chute, checking the back for her.  All was correct, as it had been when she donned the equipment hours ago, as it had been when she shuffled aboard the plane.

“SOUND OFF FOR EQUIPMENT CHECK!” the jump master bellowed, cupping his hands behind his ears.

Shouts of ‘OK, OK, OK’ made their way forward, and when Anna felt Bjorgman’s slap on her shoulder and heard his ‘OK!’ in her ear, she stuck out her left hand and yelled, “ALL OK, JUMPMASTER!”  The jumpmaster slapped her hand in acknowledgement.

 

**[Jump on out and count to four]**

 

The pitch of the engines changed, and she felt the dip in altitude as they approached the drop zone.  The plane continued to pitch and yaw, if anything it was getting worse, as if the paratrooper gods had decided to order up extra turbulence just to torment them.  Anna’s stomach rolled in rhythm with it.  She was surprised no one had gotten sick.

And then it hit her - the fetid odor of vomit, followed by the retching sounds of sympathetic reactions up and down the plane.  There was splash near her feet, and her stomach threatened to rebel.  Anna gulped air through her mouth, trying desperately not to add to the mess.

Then the jump door was open, bringing the roar inside the aircraft to an almost deafening pitch. The rushing air swept away the stench, and Anna gripped her static line tighter, the roil of nausea in her stomach quickly replaced by a million hyperactive butterflies as she watched the jumpmaster lean out the open door and look around.

The jumpmaster stepped back and held up his index fingers.  “ONE MINUTE!”

“ONE MINUTE!” 

Sweat rolled down Anna’s back despite the rush of air from the open door.  She bounced on the balls of her feet, her heart skipping a beat when the jumpmaster locked eyes with her and commanded, “STAND BY!”

She shuffled forward, handed off her static line to him and pivoted to face the door, placing one foot out on the jump platform.  The engines roared, the wind howled, but all Anna could hear was her heart pounding in her ears as she watched the ground rush by, twelve hundred feet below.  Then there was a slap on her butt and a shout of ‘GO!’ in her ear.

Anna leaped.

 

**[If my main don’t open wide, I got a reserve by my side]**

 

Muscle memory from the previous weeks of repetitive drilling kicked in.  Chin on her chest, elbows in tight, feet and knees locked together. She watched the ground below her boots as she counted off, “One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four thou - ”

_WHUMP!_   The chute filled with air, and Anna felt as though her butt had been jerked up around her shoulders.  The world spun crazily, and she saw sky and airplane beyond the toes of her boots. Then she was upright, swinging gently beneath the big round canopy.

“HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH…This is amazing!” she crowed, throwing her head back and grinning like an idiot.  She lifted her hands and grabbed the parachute's riser straps above her head. 

All of Arendelle seemed to be laid out for her viewing.  She could see the North Mountain, the edge of the fjord, and squinting, swore she could make out the castle.  Suddenly all of the indignities of the last few weeks faded away.  The sweat, the aching muscles, the miles of running, the hours spent in the front leaning rest position - all worth it for this one moment, suspended weightless and free.  Defying gravity.  Despite the other jumpers in the air around her, right here, right now, she felt like the only person in the world. 

She wished Elsa could see her.

 

**[If that one should fail me too, look out below ‘cause I’m comin’ through]**

 

The almost meditative peace was broken by an amplified voice: “PREPARE TO LAND, PREPARE TO LAND.”

_Urgh_.  There were Black Hats all over the drop zone, shouting commands through bullhorns. Couldn't she at least get on the ground before they started back up?

"You're headed for the trees!" shouted a voice from her left.  Anna looked over and saw another jumper pointing.

_Shit!_   She was drifting toward the trees at the edge of the drop zone.  She yanked her left side risers, trying to dump air from the chute and slip away from the trees.  It wasn't exactly steering, these parachutes didn't do that, but it was better than nothing. Anna looked around for the smoke pot, hoping that the wind wasn't blowing toward the trees.

No such luck.

Anna yanked harder on her risers, trying to move away from the trees.  It was working, but the ground was coming up faster than she thought, and -

_Wait, is that a pond?  Seriously?!  Shitshitshit..._ She squeezed her feet and knees together and tried to aim for the strip of ground between the trees and the water.

Her feet hit the ground right at the edge of the pond.  But instead of the graceful five-point parachute landing fall (feet-calf-thigh-buttock-lat) she'd practiced endlessly, Anna's touchdown was feet, ass, and head. 

Her ass and head splashed into the pond, her chute settling into the water behind her.

She pushed up out of the shallow water, spluttering but elated, and popped the quick release buckles on her chute straps.  She whooped in delight as she watched other jumpers descend, their exhilarated shouts feeding her own excitement. 

"GET TO THE RALLY POINT, CHERRIES.  MOVE IT, MOVE IT!"

Cherries.  Not legs.

_I'm a paratrooper!_

Anna danced a little jig as she pulled the folded kit bag from beneath her reserve chute and opened it. She dragged her main chute out of the water and stuffed it in, along with her reserve and her harness, then grabbed the handles to flip the bag into her back.

She could hardly budge it.

_Crap_.  She strained and heaved and finally got the bag slung over her shoulders.  Bent almost double, she started toward the rally point at the far side of the drop zone.  She tried to trot, but it just wasn't happening.  Instead she straggled across the big field, eyes on the ground, water running from her soggy pants into her boots with every step.   _Jesus, who knew wet silk could be so heavy?_  

 

**[If I die on the old drop zone]**

 

The throaty sound of a diesel engine approached, but Anna couldn't even lift her head to look, not with the two-ton kit bag pressing against the back of her helmet. 

"Hey, Alpha Two-Six, are you all right?"

It was the most normal voice anyone had addressed her with in...well, forever, it seemed like, and she turned her head as best she could.  There was a Black Hat, _her_ stick’s Black Hat, leaning out the passenger window of a mud-spattered Humvee.

"Yes, Sergeant! Just a wet chute, Sergeant."

He jerked his thumb toward the Humvee's cargo bed and said, "Get in the truck, cherry."

Anna almost grinned at the term _cherry_ , but then narrowed her eyes. Was this a trick?  Give her a ride back, then put her in the front leaning rest as punishment for taking a favor?  Was he trying to embarrass her, single her out, make her look like a pampered princess in front of the other soldiers?

Or worse, did he think she wasn't capable of making it to the rally point on her own?

"No, thank you, Sergeant."

He glared at her. "That wasn't a request."

"I don't need a ride. I can make it myself."

"I didn't say you couldn't, cherry.  Now get your ass in the truck!"

Her temper flared. "Fuck you, Sergeant.  You're not going to order me to ride back when everyone else is walking, even if I do end up looking like an idiot."

They stared at each other for a minute.  Anna’s legs quivered.  She thought that if she stood here much longer, they might give out on her.   Finally he gave her a strange little half-grin and said, "Suit yourself, Lieutenant."

The Humvee roared off across the field.  Anna wiggled under her load, trying in vain to get into a more comfortable position, then gave up and trudged on as fast as she could manage. 

She had no idea how long it was before she staggered up to the rally point.  Sighing with relief, she dumped her kit bag in the pile with the others, and turned to go find the rest of her stick.

_What the hell...?_

Everyone at the rally point was standing at rigid attention - the trainees, the Black Hats, and the two general officers in Class A uniforms.  Her head spinning with fatigue and confusion, Anna wondered if the sergeant had already reported her for cussing him.  Still, that was awfully fast to get not one, but _two_ generals all the way out to the drop zone, and it wasn’t like they needed a general to punish her, the Black Hats managed that kind of thing just fine on their own, and there were civilian men in dark suits, who had wires curling from their ears down into their jackets, and -

_Wait, that looks like..._

 

**[Box me up and ship me home]**

 

A tall civilian with curly brown hair turned toward her.  When he lifted his sunglasses, she saw the piercing green eyes of Revel Handler, the Queen's security chief.  He gave her a cocky grin.

_It is, it's Revel!  What is he doing here?  And if he's here, that means -_

"Anna!"

There was a gust of arctic air, a flash of blue dress and blonde hair, and Anna was enveloped in a bone-crushing hug, the familiar scent of winter pine and spearmint filling her nose.

"Elsa!"

Another stifling squeeze, and then Elsa had her at arm's length, holding her shoulders, running a critical eye over her body.  It was the first time Anna had ever seen her sister in public looking less than perfectly put together.  A few wispy tendrils of platinum blonde had escaped Elsa’s elegant bun to fall around her flushed face, and mud smudged her cheek and dress from where she had hugged Anna.

Elsa shook her by the shoulders, her blue eyes wide.  "Oh my God, Anna, are you crazy?!"

Anna bit her lip and smiled as she unbuckled her chin strap and let her helmet drop to the ground. "Maybe a little.”

“I can’t believe you just jumped out of a perfectly functional airplane!”

Now Anna grinned. “Yeah, and it was _awesome_.  I landed in a pond, though, which kinda sucked.”  She gestured at the stains on Elsa’s ice-blue dress and grimaced.  “I got mud all over you.  Sorry.”

Elsa waved dismissively, then cradled Anna’s face in her cool hands, thumbs stroking along Anna's cheekbones.  "I've missed you, Anna," she said softly.

Anna pulled her sister back into a hug.  "I've missed you too."  Her breath hitched, her chest clenching up as months of concealed hurt and anger threatened to bubble to the surface.  She suppressed it savagely.  _I will not cry, I will not cry now._

When Elsa's hand cupped the back of her head, stroking her hair, every harsh word, every biting comment she had saved for her sister for the last year just….evaporated. All that mattered was that Elsa was _here_ , _now_.  Anna squeezed her eyes shut, unable to keep the tears from seeping out.  She took a couple of deep, shuddering breaths, burying her face in Elsa's neck until she was sure she wouldn’t break down sobbing.

“Ahem.  Your Majesty, Your Highness.”  They broke apart at the sound of Revel’s voice.  “The soldiers…”

Anna swiped her hand across her cheeks and looked around at all the soldiers (no, _paratroopers_ ) still standing at stiff attention.  _Oh_. She shuffled her feet a bit, then chuckled.  _Nothing like a family reunion playing out in public._   At least there was no press around.  “Elsa, they’re going to stay at attention until you tell them not too.”

“Oh!” Elsa said, her face reddening a bit.  She raised her voice and commanded, “Carry on with your duties, please.”

The soldiers relaxed. Elsa beckoned to one of the generals, a two-star whom Anna recognized as General Thorssen, the post commander.  He hurried over.  “General, thank you for the escort. I’m going to take my sister back with me, if you can tell whoever needs to account for her.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”  He bowed.

  “Elsa, I still have four jumps left! I can’t go with you now, I have to - ”

“Lieutenant Arendelle, a word, please?” General Thorssen said.  He stepped away, jerking his head for her to follow. 

Anna followed him out of Elsa’s earshot and stood at attention.  “Yes, sir?”

“At ease, Lieutenant.”

Anna moved her feet apart, clasping her hands at the small of her back, and met his steel-gray eyes.      

“Go back with Her Majesty. Report to the company at 0700 for tomorrow's jump.”

“But sir!” she protested. “I can’t!  The other soldiers can’t, it’s not fair, I don’t want - ”

He held up his hand to cut her off. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Lieutenant,” he said, not unkindly.  “But no one here will think you’re taking a special privilege.  Do you really think that the soldiers are going to complain that the heir to the throne didn’t ride back in the trucks with them?  Look.”

Anna followed his gaze and saw that at least half the soldiers had their phones out and were trying to take surreptitious selfies with Elsa in the background.   

Thorssen went on, “No, what they’re going to do is call their families and brag all over social media that Queen Elsa was at their first jump.”

Anna opened her mouth, then snapped it shut again.  She’d never thought of it that way.

“And I suspect that if her sister desired it, Her Majesty might agree to attend the graduation ceremony after the last jump.”

She looked up at him, surprised.

He raised his eyebrow and gave her an amused smile.  "Think about it, Lieutenant.  Dismissed."

"Yes, sir." She came to attention and saluted. He returned it, then walked over to speak to the Black Hats.  Anna watched him for a moment, then went back to Elsa, who held out her muddy helmet for her.

 

**[Pin my wings upon my chest]**

 

"You Majesty, Your Highness."  Revel gestured toward the Royal staff car parked at the edge of the road that ran behind the rally point.

Elsa linked her arm through Anna's and led her toward the car.  "We'll go back to my rooms and you can shower, and we'll have some dinner."

"That sounds wonderful," Anna sighed.  "Do you have chocolate? Please tell me you have chocolate."

"You really have to ask?"

Revel opened the car door for them, placing his hand on Elsa's lower back.  Anna swore she saw Revel's hand slide from her sister’s back down over the curve of her hip as Elsa climbed into the car.  The two exchanged glances, and Anna quirked an eyebrow at Revel.  He gave her an infuriatingly bland look, but his green eyes danced.  Anna made a mental note to interrogate Elsa about it later. 

Once they were rolling down the road away from the drop zone, Elsa said, "You look different, Anna."

"How different could I look?"  Anna gestured haplessly at her filthy uniform.  "I spent my entire childhood wet and muddy."

"True," Elsa laughed.  "But…I think…it's in the way you carry yourself now.  You look more confident, more sure of yourself."  She squeezed Anna's arm.  "You seem...stronger."

"Well, when you've done as many pushups as I have lately, you can't help but get stronger," Anna mumbled.

"It's a good different," Elsa assured her.

"Elsa, are you going to come out and watch the rest of my jumps?"

Her sister wrung her hands together.  "I don't know.  I've watched parachute drops before, but I was a nervous wreck this time, knowing that you were one of those paratroopers.  I kept picturing everything that might go wrong.  It didn’t help that the sergeant in charge insisted on telling me everything that _could_ go wrong.  In great detail.  Then when it took you so long to get back, I almost panicked.  I’m just not sure I’m up to watching it again."

"You always expect the worst.  You worry too much."

"When it comes to your safety, I'll probably always worry too much."  Elsa studied her hands in her lap, where they twisted and squeezed together.  “Anna, I’m sor - ”

“No,” Anna said, reaching over to cover Elsa’s hands.  “Don’t.”

Elsa raised one hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Anna's ear.  "I'm so proud of you, Anna."

Warmth spread through Anna's body, and she suspected she was blushing from her neck all the way up to the tips of her ears.  She grabbed Elsa's hand and threaded their fingers together.  "Will you come to graduation?  There's a ceremony where we get our jump wings.  I'd like for you to be the one who pins my wings."

Elsa squeezed her hand. "I'd be honored, Anna," she said.  "But I suspect that no one will ever really be able to pin your wings."

 

 

**[And bury me in the leaning rest]**

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

This began as a one-shot, originally posted for Anna Week on Tumblr. It's since become its own -verse, one that is near and dear to my heart.

The OC Revel Handler was originally created by JEGlass over FFN. He appears in this story with her permission.

The bold text in brackets is a common US Army running cadence.


	2. The Americans Want What?

“The Americans want _what_?”

Elsa wasn’t sure she’d heard that correctly.  She was already in a foul mood after an unscheduled meeting with the ambassador from Weselton had disrupted her morning, and God, now the _Americans_ wanted something.  Only force of will kept her from frosting the small conference table in her office.

“A diplomatic representative from our government to accompany a military delegation to assess the situation in Muscovian Central Africa.”  Her Foreign Minister, Karl Stenhammer, sounded like he was reciting from a missive, his voice flat and toneless.

“In other words, they’re looking for justification for military intervention, and they want us to help them get it?”

Minister Stenhammer gave a little shrug, as if to say, _you said it, not me_.

Elsa sighed.  “And Ambassador Smithfield put you up to this? He couldn’t make an appointment to see me?  Did he upset Aggie again?”  Aggie Vollan, Elsa’s private secretary, zealously managed her daily schedule and relished her job as Royal gatekeeper.  To piss off Aggie was to ensure that _no, Her Majesty cannot spare fifteen minutes for you, Mr. Ambassador._

Stenhammer chuckled. “I don’t believe so, Your Majesty. I think he was on the phone with her when you rather… _coolly_ …asked the gentleman from Weselton to leave your office.”

Elsa put a hand to her mouth, not sure whether to be amused or embarrassed.  She generally kept a tight rein on her temper, but the arrogant little man from Weselton had a way of pushing all her buttons.

“So he decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and called me instead,” Stenhammer finished.

“Well, no one’s ever accused him of being stupid,” Elsa said, “even if his drawl runs slower than – what does he say? – ‘molasses in January’?”  She shook her head.  “What do you think, Admiral Haldorsen?”

Before her Defense Chief could answer, the door to her office flew open and Anna burst in, wearing sweat-soaked army PT clothes and clutching a bottle of water.  “Hey Elsa, can you cool this - ”  She stopped short when she saw Elsa and the two men at the conference table.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in a meeting!  I thought we were going to have breakfast together.”

“We _were_ supposed to have breakfast together – two hours ago,” Elsa reminded her.  _How did she ever survive the Krigsskolen?_

Anna looked chagrined. “I forgot.  I went for a run.  Should I come back later?”  The sanctity of Her Majesty’s calendar was completely lost on Anna, who traipsed in and out of the office pretty much as she pleased, indulged by everyone.  Even - or maybe especially – by Elsa herself.

“No, it’s okay. Here.”  Elsa gestured for the water bottle.  Anna held it out, and she touched the tip of her finger to it. There was a brief pulse of blue-white light, and the bottle was covered with a thin layer of frost. 

“Thanks!” Anna said with a delighted grin, pushing a sweaty strand of copper-colored hair back from her face.

Elsa smiled, then wrinkled her nose as she caught a whiff of her sister.  “Um, I think there’s some coffee and pastries left on my desk.”

“Real subtle, Elsa,” Anna said with a giggle as she headed for Elsa’s desk.

Elsa turned back to the two men to see Admiral Haldorsen eyeing Anna thoughtfully.  “Admiral?”

“I’m not sure they’re looking for a reason to intervene, Your Majesty,” he said.  “The Americans have enough on their hands at the moment, if their current presidential campaign is any indication.”

Elsa made what she knew was an un-queenly face.  There was no way she was getting into a discussion about that particular circus right now.  “So what _do_ they want?”

“Perhaps a reason not to,” he said.  “The UN has been putting some pressure on them about the situation there.  They want American leadership for a peacekeeping force.  The ambassador hinted that they would like a representative who is a member of our military, with diplomatic experience.”

“I assume you have a candidate in mind?”

“I do, Your Majesty,” Haldorsen replied.  He was looking over her shoulder again.

Elsa turned and followed his gaze.  Anna sat sprawled on the wide windowsill behind Elsa’s desk, pastry in one hand and water bottle in the other, gazing out into the courtyard.  She turned and saw them looking at her.

“What?” she grunted around a mouthful of pastry.  Crumbs tumbled onto her sweaty t-shirt.

Elsa spun back to the table. “You _cannot_ be serious!” she hissed.

“Why not, Your Majesty?” Stenhammer asked.  “It’s a brilliant idea.  She’s an officer - ”

“She’s a second lieutenant!”

“ – she has diplomatic training - ”

“Hardly!”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Anna called from her perch on the windowsill.

Elsa let out an exasperated huff.  “You know you are talking about someone who publically referred to the leader of Muscovia as ‘President Surely I’m-a-nut-job’?  When he was in the same room?”

“I was sixteen!” Anna protested, dropping into the chair beside Elsa.  “It’s a hard name to say!”

“I’d find that more believable if you hadn’t coughed into your hand when you said it!”

Anna looked unrepentant.

Stenhammer smothered a laugh.  “In Her Highness’s defense, that _doesn’t_ sound much different than ‘Yuri Imanovajov,’” he said.

“And it’s more accurate,” Haldorsen added under his breath.

Elsa glared at all three of them.  “Out of the question.  Find someone else.”

“What exactly are we talking about here?” Anna asked.  Stenhammer explained the situation, and she frowned.  “Muscovian Central Africa?  Insurgency, right?  Muscovia wants help propping up their puppet government?”  She saw Elsa’s startled look.  “What?  You’re not the only one who gets briefings from the Foreign Ministry.”

Elsa blushed.  “I didn’t know you paid attention to them,” she murmured

Anna stuck out her tongue, then turned back to Stenhammer and Haldorsen.  “You want me to go?  Don’t the Americans usually ask the Swiss for this kind of thing?”

“President Imanovajov doesn’t trust the Swiss,” Stenhammer said.

“Oh, yeah, he’s still pissed they froze his accounts over the human trafficking thing.”  Anna leaned her elbows on the table and sipped her water. “Sure, I’ll do it.”

_Wait, what?_   “Anna, NO.”

“Why not?  It makes sense,” Anna said.  “The Americans and Muscovians both want a neutral party, but Imanutjob doesn’t trust the Swiss.  He probably doesn’t trust us either, but the UN does.  Plus, it feeds his ego – he’s important enough that we’re sending the Crown Princess as part of the delegation.”

“Precisely, Your Highness,” Minister Stenhammer said.  “Your Majesty - ”

“I said no.”  Elsa could hear the frost in her own voice, was aware that the room’s temperature had dipped, even before Anna shivered. No.  She was not letting Anna fly off to some third-world jungle hellhole, to be dropped into the midst of a civil war where neither party was interested in compromise.  She propped her head in her hands.

“Uh, gentlemen,” she heard Anna say, “I think I need a few minutes with my sister.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Haldorsen said.  “Your Majesty, with your permission?”

Elsa waved a hand in dismissal, not looking at them.  When she heard the door close, she raised her head to find Anna’s sea-blue eyes boring into hers.

“What’s going on, Elsa?”

“Nothing!  I just don’t think you’re the right fit for this particular assignment.”

“Bullshit.  I’m a perfect fit and you know it.”

_God, the Army has only made her language worse…_

“Anna, you’re a second lieutenant,” Elsa pointed out, trying to sound reasonable.  Anna would throw a fit if she knew Elsa’s real concerns. The last time that had happened, Anna had stormed out of the Castle, gone to the Krigsskolen, and Elsa hadn’t seen her for over a year.

_Not all of that was Anna’s fault_ , she reminded herself.

“That doesn’t matter. What matters to President Imanutjob is that I’m the Crown Princess, second only in power to the Queen, that I speak with the Queen’s voice.  It plays on his narcissism, because he sees himself as a kind of royalty.”  Anna took a sip of her water and chuckled.  “The Americans, well… _they_ might be insulted by me being a second lieutenant.”

Elsa shook her head. “Admiral Haldorsen can find a more experienced officer.  You haven’t even gotten your first assignment yet.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Anna said.  She went back to Elsa’s desk and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“About your assignment? Do you need me to -  ”

“No,” Anna cut her off, “I told you I don’t want special privileges.  You have to stay out of it.”  She sat in Elsa’s chair and propped her feet on an open drawer.  “ _All_ of it, Elsa.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

That earned her a look that just screamed _oh puh-leeze_.  Elsa suddenly had trouble meeting her sister’s eyes.

“It’s been three weeks since I graduated jump school,” Anna said conversationally.  “I should have gotten my orders for specialty training already.  But I haven’t.  So I went over to Officer Assignments, and they told me that my personnel record’s been flagged.  Until the flag is lifted, I can’t get orders.  Can’t go anywhere.  So I’ve been temporarily assigned to the garrison here, where I will spend my days at a desk, moving papers from the inbox to the outbox.”

Elsa swallowed hard. With Anna sitting at her desk, giving her the stink-eye, she felt like a little girl again, being called on the carpet by Papa.  She said nothing.

Anna waited, and when it was clear that Elsa wasn’t going to say anything, she went on, “Naturally I was curious about the flag, since I haven’t, you know, gotten drunk and puked in the potted plants at the O club, or broken anything really big, or generally done anything unbecoming.  Turns out the flag was put there by an inquiry from this office.”

“Anna, I - ”

Anna was up and around the desk in a flash, grabbing Elsa’s shoulders.  “Elsa, you have to stop doing this!” she insisted.  “I didn’t go through all that crap for the last year to end up shuffling papers in a broom closet over at the garrison!”

“But you’ll be safe there,” Elsa mumbled, hoping that Anna wouldn’t really hear her.  She wrapped her arms around herself and turned away, cursing to herself as snowflakes began falling around them.

Then Anna’s hands were on her shoulders again, turning her around.  “Hey.  Look at me.” Elsa lifted her eyes.  Anna’s expression was softer now, and she touched her fingers to Elsa’s cheek.  “We talked about this.  You said you wouldn’t pin my wings.”

“I know, but - ”

“No ‘buts’, Elsa.  You have to let me do this.  I need to serve in my own way.”

Elsa took a deep breath and looked at her sister, _really_ looked at her, for the first time in, well, forever. 

_When did she get so grown up?_

Anna wasn’t a flighty teenager anymore.  She had degrees in political science and international relations.  She’d made it through the Krigsskolen and through parachute training, neither of those easy feats.  She seemed to be taking her Royal duties much more seriously.

_You need to stop underestimating her._

“Okay,” she said finally. With an effort, she waved away the small snowstorm.  “I’ll tell Minister Stenhammer and Admiral Haldorsen that you are to be Arendelle’s official representative for this delegation.”

“Yes!!”  Anna’s whole face lit up.  “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”  She threw her arms around Elsa and squeezed her tight.

“Ooof, Anna, I can’t breathe!”  _Ewww…and not just because of that hug_.  “Why don’t you go shower, and then we’ll talk some more?”

Anna let her go, her freckled nose wrinkling when she caught a whiff of herself.  “Ewww…yeah, sorry about that.”  She grabbed another pastry, shoving it into her mouth as she headed for the office door.  “Lunch?” she called over her shoulder.

“Sure.  Just check with Aggie about - ”

The office door slammed in Anna’s wake.

“ – my calendar…”

Elsa flopped into the chair behind her desk, rubbing her temples.  Snow began falling again, and this time, she just let it swirl around her.

_It will be fine_ , she tried to convince herself.  _I will have Revel send someone with her.  As long as she doesn’t get us embroiled in a war or get herself killed, or do anything else equally Anna-ish, it will be fine._

She just sat there for a few minutes and watched the snow pile up around her office, then buzzed Aggie to cancel her next meeting.

           


	3. The Americans Want What? pt 2, or Some Like It Hot

Anna had never been so hot.

The heat didn’t so much slap her as reach out and grab her, wrapping her in a stifling wet blanket of humidity.  Her every breath felt as though it was being sucked through a bowlful of hot soup, and she wondered if her lungs would just give up and leave her to suffocate.

And the only thing she’d done so far was descend the stairs from the American C-37 aircraft to the tarmac. 

She looked across the heat-rippled asphalt at the single-story terminal, where a corrugated metal sign read “WELCOME TO KOHRO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT.” The walk from the plane to the shabby cinderblock building couldn’t have been more than fifty yards, but it would feel like fifty miles in this thick air.

The others didn’t seem to be faring any better, if the muffled cursing around her was any indication. 

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

Anna looked up at the very large, very black Green Beret who had fallen into step next to her.  _Lockhart_ , his nametag read, and he wore the three-up, three-down stripes of a –  Anna rifled through her mental file of American rank insignia – _master sergeant, I think?_   He had joined them just before takeoff from the airbase in Germany, much to the apparent annoyance of General Combs, the American officer in charge of the delegation.  There had been a quiet but heated exchange and the sergeant handed over a sheet of paper (presumably his orders), after which he settled his bulky body into the seat opposite her and immediately went to sleep.  He didn’t wake up until the plane’s wheels chirped against the runway at their destination.

“I…don’t think I ever been anywhere this hot,” Anna said.  Even the week she’d spent in Florida during one of her few college breaks hadn’t been like this.  Of course, she’d spent most of that week in a bikini, not in a dark green wool-blend uniform designed for the more reasonable climes of Arendelle.  Her hair was already damp beneath her purple beret, and sweat wasn’t so much trickling down between her breasts as it was rushing like raging floodwaters.

_I’m not gonna be able to take my jacket off, because my blouse probably looks like I’ve been in a wet T-shirt contest._

“Welcome to the MCA,” Sergeant Lockhart said with an expansive gesture at the jungle surrounding the runway.  In the dulcet tones of a radio announcer, he continued, “’The weather out there today is hot and shitty with continued hot and shitty in the afternoon.’”

Anna giggled and picked up the quote.  “’Tomorrow a chance of continued crappy with a pissy weather front coming down from the north.’”

Lockhart looked at her in surprise before breaking into a grin that showed off a set of even white teeth.  “May I compliment the Lieutenant on her excellent taste in movies?”

“You’d be the first person to do that.”  Anna grinned as she recalled Elsa’s snobbish disdain for American movies, or at least the ones Anna liked.  “And I figure that’s going to be the weather report for most of the time we’re here anyway.”

“God, I hope not,” another voice growled, and Anna turned to see one of her Arendellan bodyguards, an enormous man named Marshall, approaching from the direction of the terminal, trailed by the general’s aide, a thirty-five-ish major with a round, ruddy face. Marshall, who for some inexplicable reason was known as Marshmallow, looked as though he had been carved from an iceberg, all jagged features and hard planes of muscle. 

She wondered why Revel had picked Marshmallow for this trip.  He was even blonder and paler than Elsa, and the heat definitely did not agree with him.  His face was sunburned already, and sweat plastered his hair to his head, his pink scalp visible through the white-blond strands.

The anger on Marshmallow’s face made it even redder.  “There were supposed to be cars here to pick us up, with an escort to help smooth our way through customs.  But there is only one person” – he turned and pointed at a tall, skinny African standing just outside the terminal door – “and all he says is that he is sorry, but he knows nothing about a car.”

“Where the hell is the car?” General Combs demanded as he descended the stairs from the plane.  He was also red-faced, sweat pouring from his bald pate, and looked like he was just one wrong word away from an explosion.  Anna idly considered several smartass comments, but decided to say nothing. There was already enough tension between her and the general.  As she had suspected, the Americans were unhappy with an Arendellan second lieutenant in the delegation, even if she was the Crown Princess.

And she really wanted to get off this tarmac before she just boiled away in the heat.

“I’m not sure, sir,” the general’s aide said. “I verified the arrangements myself before we left Stuttgart, and everything was laid on.”

“Let me check on it, sir,” Sergeant Lockhart said.  He started toward the skinny African.  Anna hurried after him, hoping to God that the terminal had A/C.  After a brief hesitation, the rest of the delegation followed.

Lockhart shook the African’s hand and spoke in a musical language that Anna couldn’t place.  _Swahili?_ The African, who wore a finely-tailored white linen suit, listened for a moment, then nodded enthusiastically, his head wobbling atop his skinny neck like a bobble-head doll.

“This way,” he said with a wide grin.  He waved them into the old, colorful - but blissfully air-conditioned - terminal.  The relief was all too short-lived; he led them straight through the building and out onto the hot sidewalk out front, a cell phone pressed to his ear.  Thirty seconds later, a convoy of black ZIL limousines pulled up to the curb.

“My apologies, General Combs,” the African said.  “A miscommunication.  Your luggage will follow, and will be waiting for you at the VIP lodging.”

Combs grunted in acknowledgement.  Marshmallow opened the back door of the second limo, and Anna climbed in, followed by Combs and his aide.  Lockhart started to get in as well, but stopped when Combs held up his hand.

“I don’t believe we have room for you, Lockhart,” he said.

“Oh, sure we do,” Anna said.  She had decided that she liked Lockhart.  He treated her like a person, as opposed to the rest of the Americans, who couldn’t seem to decide if they should show deference to her title, or treat her like…well, just another wet-behind-the-ears butterbar, who should be seen and not heard in the presence of superiors.  “Marshmallow can ride up front with the driver.”

She smothered a smile at Combs’ sour expression.  Lockhart grinned and slid into the seat beside her. Marshmallow closed the door, then got in the front passenger seat, and the limo pulled away from the curb.

General Combs cleared his throat.  “So what was that business with the transportation ‘miscommunication,’ Lockhart?”

Lockhart gave a slight shrug.  “He needed a little gift to get things moving.”

“A gift?  You mean a _bribe_?” the general’s aide asked, indignant. 

“It was twenty bucks, which he may or may not share with the limo drivers.” Lockhart gave the little shrug again. “It’s just the way things get done here, sir.”

Anna looked back and forth between Lockhart and the general.  There was something else going on there, she was sure. 

C _ombs acts like Lockhart is a strange dog in his territory.  Weird._  Master sergeant or not, Lockhart was just an NCO.  Why did he make the general nervous?

_As long as it doesn’t cause a problem with the mission, I guess it’s none of my business._

She turned to look out the window, the fatigue from the heat and the long flight swept away by the limo’s A/C and the excitement of being on her first assignment, royal or military, of any real consequence.  Anna grinned to herself as she watched the lush jungle foliage lining the highway rush by in a green blur.

_Hot or not, this is gonna be cool!_

 

* * *

 

 Two days later, Anna was boiling hot again, but this time it had nothing to do with the weather.

She stormed into the ladies’ room in a seriously un-princesslike fashion, having depleted her entire reserve of royal courtesy and composure just to get out of the VIP dining room without killing anyone.  She’d made it through the morning conference session without incident, but now, after having a couple of glasses of wine at the luncheon, she recognized that her control over her temper was getting shaky.

So she left the dining room, more worried about an outburst that would embarrass Elsa when word got back to her than she was about pissing off any of the men in the room.

Her initial excitement had evaporated like water on hot pavement when she realized that no one was taking her seriously.  The Americans tried to pretend she wasn’t there at all, and the Muscovians and Central Africans treated her like a sort of ornamental rubber stamp, coveting her title on whatever agreements were reached, but expecting her to accept the bullshit they were spouting without question.

What they were spouting was the need for helicopters and heavy infantry weapons, but mostly troops, combat troops, preferably under the command of Muscovian officers, to help them put down their insurgency.   The MCA army was mostly incapable of coping with the rebels, and so had turned to the Muscovians for help.

Anna shook her head.  Muscovian Central Africa was nominally an independent country, but in reality, President Mwenye of MCA took his marching orders from President Imanovajov.  Muscovia was a rare holdout, still clinging to colonialism in a world where most modern nations had forsworn imperialist ambitions, at least publically.  But MCA’s diamonds, minerals, and precious metals made Imanutjob a player on the world stage, and there was no way he was going to give that up. So he propped up the dictator Mwenye, kept him in luxury and power, and the money flowed from the African mines into Imanutjob’s coffers.

Well, at least the Americans would never agree to put their troops under Muscovian command.  General Combs’ eyes had rolled so hard at that request that Anna swore she could hear them click inside their sockets.  It didn’t mean the Americans wouldn’t agree to help; they just wanted to be in charge. They were really little better than the Muscovians sometimes, Anna thought, despite the constant talk of freedom and democracy and the right to self-determination.  A brutal dictator amenable to their interests was preferable to a chaotic democracy that wasn’t.

Anna went to the sink and splashed some cold water on her face, then tugged at the hem of her Class A jacket to straighten it.  At least she was in uniform for the conferences, unlike last night’s dinner/dance at the MCA presidential mansion.  She had packed her formal mess uniform for that occasion, but two hours before it started, a nervous protocol officer from the Arendellan Embassy had shown up at her suite with an evening gown wrapped in plastic and a fashionably-dressed Central African woman in tow. 

“What is this?” Anna had asked.

The protocol officer looked apologetic.  “Pardon me, Your Highness, but it is a gift from President Mwenye. He had it commissioned specifically for you, from Pito Malonga.”  At Anna’s puzzled look, she added, “He’s one of Africa’s top fashion designers, and he was born here in Kohro.”

Anna had initially said no – this wasn’t a social trip, after all! – but when the protocol officer explained that Mwenye was likely to take offense if she refused, she had grudgingly agreed.  The African woman made a few adjustments after Anna tried it on, but it appeared to have been tailor-made for her.  She had to admit that it was beautiful - a swirl of geometric patterns in in rich greens and golds, with a floor-length skirt and fitted bodice with a sweetheart neckline.  It showed a bit more cleavage than she would’ve liked for the occasion, but given how President Mwenye’s eyes (and hands) wandered over it, that may have been the point.

_Apparently my title isn’t the only part of me he covets_.  Anna wrinkled her nose and shuddered.  _Not in this lifetime, buddy_.

Fortunately, Marshmallow’s looming presence had discouraged him from anything bolder than a few brushes over her back and bare shoulders.  At least Elsa wasn’t there; otherwise President Mwenye might have become the first permanent ice sculpture in Muscovian Central Africa.

She took a deep breath and puffed out her cheeks.  A bit calmer, she checked her jacket once more before leaving the ladies’ room.  She spotted a small bar on her way back to the dining room and looked into it longingly for a moment. 

_Nah, better not.  I’m already having trouble with my filter.  A couple of drinks, and I may get Arendelle into a war, and then Elsa would really be pissed._

 

* * *

 

The afternoon session was much more productive.  The discussions turned to the overall situation in MCA – which regions were in rebel hands, which ones were firmly under government control, and the areas where it could go either way.  It seemed to Anna that most of the country fell into the “could go either way” category, and it was in those areas that the fighting had been the most brutal and intense.

Anna listened with half an ear to the briefing officer, a MCA Army major who was giving a rundown of the importance of the disputed areas and the strategic resources – mostly mines – that were located in them.  She studied the large map he was using for the brief, trying to puzzle out the symbology, which was a bit different from that used by Arendelle’s army. 

“Excuse me, Major,” she interrupted, ignoring General Combs’ slight scowl, “but what do those fortification markings represent?”

The major glanced at General Jelani, the MCA Army representative, who gave him a slight nod.  “Those are our forward outposts, away from the main bases.”

Anna nodded.  “Recon and surveillance?”

“Yes,” the major replied.  “They also serve as launching points for raids to interdict the rebels’ supply lines. This is the most important.”  With his pointer, he indicated an outpost close to MCA’s eastern border.  “The rebels receive supplies down the Kibombo River here, from sympathizers across the border in Kivu.”

Anna leaned forward, putting her elbows on the conference table as she stared at the map.  “I would like to see that outpost.”

“What?!” General Combs exploded.  He quickly got himself under control.  “I don’t think that’s necessary, Lieutenant.”

“General, I’m here as a neutral observer,” Anna explained patiently, as though talking to a backward child.  _At the request of_ your _government, you asshole_.  “But I can’t observe anything from here in Kohro.  I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t take a closer look at what’s going on in the disputed areas.”

_And I’m tired of being expected to take your fucking word about everything that’s going on in this country._

“It’s quite impossible, Your Highness,” General Jelani said.  “We have no way to get you there safely.  The rebels have severely degraded the road networks throughout the province, and our control of the river is tenuous at best.”

Anna furrowed her brow.  “Then how do you resupply the outpost?”

“By air.”

“Then fly me in.”

“By air _drop_ ,” Jelani clarified.

“I’m jump-qualified.”

The sudden chorus of outrage from around the table drowned out Jelani’s response. Anna saw Sergeant Lockhart, who was seated along the conference room wall behind General Combs, watching her with a bemused expression.  She flashed him a grin while the arguments went on around her.

Finally General Jelani got the meeting back under control.  “Your Highness, we cannot guarantee your safety.”

“And quite honestly, Lieutenant, you lack the experience to make sound recommendations as to the situation here,” Combs put in.  “The major’s briefing material should cover everything well enough for you to make a report with the input of General Jelani and myself.”

_Enough of this shit!_   Anna stood up, pinning Combs with an icy glare, drawing almost unconsciously on years of watching her sister deal with men who thought they knew better.

“Gentlemen,” she said, with a hint of frost in her voice.  “May I remind you that I am here at the request of all of your governments, as well as the UN.  I cannot, and will not, put Arendelle’s seal on any documents that come out of these conferences without having had a look at things for myself.”

Jelani shook his head.  “We simply cannot risk it.”

Before Anna could protest, the briefing officer - Major Sefu, now that she could see his nametag - said, “Sir, perhaps we could arrange for the Princess to visit Maneima, where she could get a more detailed briefing about the situation there, since the outpost unit’s main headquarters is there.”

“Yes, yes, good suggestion,” Jelani said, cutting off Combs’ objection with a wave of his hand.  “Would that be satisfactory, Princess Anna?”

Recognizing that that was all she was going to get for the moment, Anna nodded.  She noted Maneima’s location on the map. Once she was there, she could figure out how to get to the outpost.  She was tired of being spoon-fed.  It was time to see things for herself.

 

 

 


	4. The Americans Want What? pt 3 or Jump Into My Fire

Aside from the smell, which was God-awful, there was just enough familiar about the atmosphere to keep Anna from being physically ill.

The plane, an old four-engine turboprop belonging to the MCA Air Force, was a Muscovian knockoff of the C-130, so the structure was familiar to her, right down to the uncomfortable webbed paratrooper seats. But the resemblance stopped there, as she couldn’t help but notice the signs of shoddy maintenance, from the exposed wiring in the bulkheads to the rusty patches in the deck beneath her boots.

But the smell…the Central Africans had been using the plane to evacuate the dead and wounded from their forward outposts, and so it reeked of blood and urine and vomit and burned flesh.  And shit, since the first thing a body did when it died was empty its bowels.

Apparently after a growing number of evacuation flights, the crews were no longer able - or maybe stopped trying - to get rid of the smell.  Anna squirmed in her seat, sweaty and queasy, gulping air through her mouth and praying she wouldn’t embarrass herself by yakking all over the place.

The chutes, both main and reserve, were American, the same type she had trained with, but she was a little nervous about them. The MCA Army jumpmaster’s pre-jump inspection had been perfunctory at best, and she couldn’t help but wonder if the riggers had taken the same cavalier approach to packing the chute.

In fact, all of the dozen or so MCA soldiers being dropped into Kivu border outpost were being pretty casual about the whole situation.  They had shown some intense curiosity when she showed up in the Maniema Base harness shed unannounced.  They’d pointed and stared at her, but after a few harsh words from their sergeant, they’d gone back to laughing and bantering amongst themselves.  The Muscovian officer in charge, Captain Vasilek, a small, slight man with light brown hair and intense blue eyes, had questioned her, but backed off with a doubtful shrug after she showed him her diplomatic carnet and told him why she was there.

“As long as I am not expected to babysit you,” he’d said in heavily-accented English.

“No, Captain, I do not expect - nor want - you to babysit me.”

“Fine.”  He had turned away and barked something at the platoon sergeant, who led her over to an equipment table to gear up.

Anna fidgeted as the Muscovian crew chief started closing the plane’s ramp.  He stopped it when a shout came from outside, and Master Sergeant Lockhart jumped onto the partially-raised ramp, wearing a chute and jump helmet.  He exchanged a few words with Captain Vasilek and the MCA sergeant, and pointed at Anna. 

The sergeant laughed.  “ _Shujaa kidogo_ ,” he said.  He barked an order at the soldiers, who shifted down to make room for Lockhart.

“What are you doing here?” Anna hissed as he settled into the web seat next to her. “What did you tell them?”

“I told them I’m a bodyguard, here to protect them from the fierce Viking warrior princess from the frozen northlands.”

Anna’s mouth dropped open.  “You did _not_.” Lockhart grinned.  He said something to the MCA sergeant, who nodded. 

“ _Nyekundu kidogo shujaa_ ,” he said with a smile, pointing at Anna.  

“Little Red Warrior,” Lockhart translated. 

“Oh my God.”  Anna covered her eyes, but couldn’t keep from laughing.  “So how did you know I was here?”

“I saw the look on your face when they were dragging you all over the base for that dog-and-pony show.  You knew they were blowing smoke up your ass and you were pissed.  After that, and the way you were eyeballing the maps and schedules in the command center, it wasn’t really that hard to figure out what you were up to.”

Anna shook her head.  _I really gotta work on my Queen face_.  _That ‘conceal don’t feel’ one that Elsa uses when someone’s pissing her off._

“Why did you ditch your bodyguard?” Lockhart asked.

_Because if Marshmallow knew, he would call my sister and she would order him to physically restrain me and drag me home_ , she thought.  Out loud, she said, “He can’t handle the heat.  And why are you here?  There’s no way Combs signed off on you doing this.”

“I don’t work for Combs,” Lockhart said.

The turboprops roared to life, cutting off any further questioning.  Anna clung to the frame of her web seat, her teeth rattling as the plane made its bone-jarring takeoff roll.  She sighed in relief when the wheels finally left the rutted runway.

Despite her nervous anticipation – she was scared, honestly – Anna soon found herself fighting to stay awake.  She had arrived at the harness shed well before dawn, and her lack of sleep combined with the roaring engines and steady vibration of the aircraft to quickly lull her into a stupor.  Her head dropped back against the seat webbing as she dozed off.

“LT,” a voice said, right in her ear.  “Hey, LT.” 

A hand shaking her shoulder jerked her back to wakefulness, and she blinked up at Lockhart.  He gestured at her to stand up.  She looked around and saw the other soldiers getting up to check each other’s equipment.

“Stand up and let me check your gear,” Lockhart said. He had to shout to be heard over the engines.

Anna stood up, glancing out the small round window as she did.  There was no sign of civilization anywhere, just a green sea of treetops stretching to the horizon.  If they went down out here, she wondered uneasily, would they ever be found?  Even if the plane exploded and burned, it would leave only a tiny black mark in the endless jungle below.

She pushed those thoughts aside as Lockhart inspected her rig.  He made a few adjustments, including tightening her leg straps so much that it made her wince.  She vaguely wondered how the guys handled it.  It would suck if something got pinched between the leg and the strap…

Then she felt him slide something heavy into the cargo pocket on her right trouser leg, giving him a questioning look when he straightened up.  He leaned close as he inspected her harness and helmet, and said, “Nine mil.”

Her eyes widened.  He went on, “This isn’t a Hollywood jump, LT.  There will be bad guys on the ground.  Didn’t really think about that when you snuck out at oh-dark-thirty, did you?”

Anna shook her head and swallowed hard.  No, it hadn’t even crossed her mind; she was on a diplomatic trip, after all.  And she hadn’t thought much about the fact that all the MCA soldiers were carrying weapons.  “What about you?”

He turned slightly and she saw the submachine gun rigged against his side, under his left arm. 

_Fuuuuuuuuuck_.  How could she have been so stupid?  Lockhart might have just saved her ass.

The engines throttled back and the red jump light came on.  The jumpmaster, a stocky MCA captain, shouted a time warning, holding up six fingers. He gave all his commands in Swahili, but they were familiar enough to Anna.  Hook up, check static lines and equipment, stand by.  Anna shuffled forward, third in line behind Captain Vasilek and the MCA platoon sergeant.

Then came a sharp, metallic pinging, like rocks hitting a tin roof.  The plane started to bank, and Anna saw smoke pouring from the wing.  “Oh, _shit_!”

More pinging sounds, and the jumpmaster fell back from the door, blood spreading across his chest.  Billowing black smoke, a bright orange flare, and then the whole wing was furiously aflame.

Acting on instinct, Anna let go of her static line and shoved Vasilek out the door with both hands.  She didn’t have to push the MCA sergeant – he went out the door a split second behind the captain.

Anna stumbled backward as the door side of the plane went high.  Flailing her arms, she managed to catch hold of a web seat, and tried to pull herself back up.  Then a hand grabbed one of her leg straps and tossed her headfirst out the door.

She struggled to get into a tight body position as she tumbled through the slipstream, and she was afraid she would slam into the tail assembly.  But it flashed by, a few feet from her face, and the world in her vision spun between sky and trees and smoke until the chute jerked loose from its bag and she felt its opening shock.

When she finally got her risers untwisted and could look around, she saw three other chutes in the air.  Vasilek and the sergeant had gotten out.  Was the other chute Lockhart’s?  Anna was certain that he was the one who had thrown her out of the plane.  Had he managed to get out as well?

She twisted her head to look at the plane. It fell away from her in an almost graceful arc, the whole left wing a ball of fire.  As she watched, it crashed into the forest canopy, then exploded. No one else got out. The flames quickly disappeared, swallowed by the jungle.

Anna saw the other three chutes deflate as their jumpers went into the trees.  She’d gone out before Lockhart, if that one of those was him, but he probably had over a hundred pounds on her.  It was going to take her a bit longer to get down.  The trees were rushing up on her fast enough, though.  She squeezed her feet and knees together and covered her face with her arms as she hit the upper branches.

She scrunched her eyes shut amidst the sound of breaking branches, trying to keep from crying out as the tree limbs slapped against her body.  Then suddenly, she jerked to a halt.  She opened her eyes.  She was hung in the tree, maybe thirty or forty feet up, swinging gently in her harness.

It was very, very quiet.

Anna just hung there for a minute, waiting for her trembling to stop.  Then she tried a few tentative swings in her harness, hoping the chute wouldn’t tear loose and send her plummeting to the ground.  It seemed like it would hold, so she worked herself into some bigger swings until she was able to grab hold of a branch that she thought would hold her weight. She threw her leg over it, then popped the quick release on her harness.

She clung to the branch, arms and legs wrapped around it, and debated whether to try and retrieve the chute.  The sounds of movement and voices in the forest below decided it for her.  She couldn’t tell how far away they were, but the obvious thing to do was get out of the tree.  She shimmied to the trunk and started climbing down.

The last of the branches was about fifteen feet above the ground.  Anna hung from the lowest one and dropped the rest of the way, bending her knees and rolling when she hit.  The landing was surprisingly soft; the ground was damp and spongy and covered with rotting leaves.  Her nose wrinkled at the vaguely septic odor.

_What do I do now?_

She backed up against the tree trunk and just sat there for a moment, fighting back tears as she considered her predicament. Marshmallow had surely discovered her missing and raised an alarm by now, but she hadn’t told anyone where she was going. 

How long would it take for them to find out that the plane had been shot down?  Would they look for survivors?  If they did, would they know enough to look for her as well?  Or would they think that she couldn’t possibly be crazy enough to hitch an unauthorized plane ride deep into a war zone in the African boonies? 

At this point, even Anna couldn’t believe she’d been that crazy.

She wondered if Lockhart had told anyone where he was going.  If he had, the Americans would come looking for him.  If she could find him, then her chances of surviving this thing would be a lot better.

Well, sitting under a tree crying wouldn’t help her situation.  Anna swiped at her eyes and pushed herself to her feet.  Something shifted in her cargo pocket.  The nine mil!  She dug the pistol out of her pocket and checked it.  Full magazine, round in the chamber, safety on.  There were even two spare magazines in her pocket, both full.

_I’m gonna owe Lockhart a lifetime of drinks if we ever get out of this._

She put the pistol back in her cargo pocket and set off in the direction where she thought the earlier noise had come from.

 

* * *

 

“Where the hell is she?” General Combs complained. The whole delegation had been seated in the VIP dining room for almost a half-hour, and there was still no sign of the Arendellan princess.  This was supposed to be a working breakfast, damn it, and the inconsiderate girl was making everyone wait.

_I knew it was a bad idea to get the Arendellans involved in this_.  Any country willing to be ruled by a woman barely old enough to legally drink had no business being a player on the world stage.  But Imanovajov had insisted, and now they were saddled with an empty-headed princess who was fulfilling a whim by playing soldier.  And after insisting that they all make an unnecessary side trip out to this squalid city in the middle of the African jungle, she had the gall to be late!

“Go find her, Lewis,” Combs snapped at his aide. “Pampered princess or no, we still have work to do here.”

“Sir, I’m not certain of the protocol - ” Major Lewis began.

“Screw the protocol, Lewis, she’s a second lieutenant. Go get her ass out of bed!”

Lewis rose to leave just as Lieutenant Arendelle’s massive blond bodyguard came into the dining room, and looked around in confusion.

“Where is your princess, Mister Marshall?” General Combs called to him. “We can’t get started until she’s here.”

“She’s not answering her door,” Marshall rumbled. His voice sounded like boulders crashing down a mountainside.  “I thought perhaps she had already come down.”

“Well, as you can see, she’s not here.  Hell of a morning for her to decide to sleep in. The rest of us aren’t royalty – we don’t get to keep such languid schedules.”

Marshall’s features hardened and he turned on his heel and stomped from the room, mumbling something about breaking down her door.

Lewis gave Combs a questioning look, and Combs jerked his head toward the door.  “Go with him and make sure he doesn’t tear up the place.”

 

* * *

 

Revel Handler, head of the Queen’s security detail, fished his buzzing phone from his pocket, grimacing when he saw the number for the Foreign Minister’s office.  Had there been _another_ change to the travel itinerary for the President of the Southern Isles? The last change had set off a domino effect of alterations to scheduled public appearances and meeting times, which in turn set off a corresponding adjustment in security arrangements, all of which conspired to cause Revel a monstrous headache.

A headache that would only get worse once the Queen was informed.  It would be sure to further feed Elsa’s intense loathing of President Westergard, whom she’d held in contempt even before he started badgering her to marry his thirteenth son.

Revel snorted as he tapped the Answer button. The youngest Westergard was a pompous, preening peacock of a man who was nowhere close to being a match for Elsa.

“Handler,” he snapped into his phone as he went into Elsa’s outer office, giving Aggie a little wave.

“No, I haven’t heard from Marshall since he last reported in, night before last.  They were headed to Maniema, or someplace like that.  He said that he thought communications might be spotty for a few days.”

“…What?!”  Revel skidded to an abrupt halt.  “What do you mean, ‘can’t find her?’  How in the _hell_ did the Americans lose the Princess??”

Revel pressed the phone harder to his ear, pacing as he listened to Minister Stenhammer.  Apparently Anna had not shown for a morning meeting and was not in her suite. The night clerk for the VIP quarters at Maniema base had reported seeing her leave in a field uniform sometime around 4 AM.  The Americans had called the Arendelle Embassy in Kohro to see if she had checked in, and to complain that Marshmallow had threatened several American, Muscovian, and MCA officials with grave bodily harm if they did not find Anna immediately. 

Revel lowered his voice.  “I’ll call Marshmallow, but in the meantime, you better get every swinging Richard in the embassy down there working on this!”

 “...No, I’m not going to tell Her Majesty _anything_ until we know more.  No need to distress her unnecessarily.  I’ll call you back after I talk to Marshmallow.”

He clicked off and looked over to see Aggie staring at him, wide-eyed.  “Revel, what on earth - ?”

Revel held up his hand to forestall her question as he punched Marshmallow’s number into his phone.  As he strained to understand the big man’s rumbling voice through the spotty connection, one thought ran over and over through his mind:

_How in the hell am I going to tell Elsa that her beloved little sister is missing?_

 

 


	5. The Americans Want What? pt 4 or Hot Gets A Little Cold

Anna moved as silently as she could along the edge of the footpath that she’d located not long after leaving the tree where she’d landed.  She was torn about using it.  On the one hand, it was faster than trying to make her way through the heavy jungle vegetation.  It was also quieter – she was certain that herd of elephants would make less noise than she had as she thrashed through the undergrowth.

On the other hand, the path looked well-traveled.  The question was, who traveled it?  The residents of remote villages?  Or was this one of the insurgent supply lines she’d been briefed on back at Maniema?  Despite the heat, she shivered as she remembered Lockhart’s warning: _There will be bad guys on the ground_.  If she ran across the bad guys, she wouldn’t have much time to hide.  Her hand dropped to her cargo pocket, the pistol there providing some reassurance.  She could still fight.

She moved into the tree line for a moment, taking off her helmet to scratch her head, sighing at the relief.  As much as she would have liked to just drop the helmet and leave it there, it had already spared her a couple of concussions from low-hanging tree branches.  _Plus_ , she thought as she slapped at several flying insects, all the size of small birds, _it keeps the bugs out of my hair._   Best to hang on to it, even if it made her feel like she’d stuck her head in a pot of boiling water.

The heat was oppressive, wearing her down despite the abundant shade from the jungle canopy. Every part of her was sweat-soaked, and she had no water.  Oh, there was plenty of water about – she had splashed through a stream not long after she set out – but it was warm and silty and had things moving in it that she didn’t want to think too much about.  Her doctor had stuck her like a pincushion before she left, but warned her that vaccinations wouldn’t protect her from all of the diseases down here.

And she had no way to treat the water to make it safe to drink.

_So much for being born ready._ Now she knew why they said second lieutenants were about as useful as tits on a bull reindeer. 

Especially when they tended to leap before they looked.

Squashing that thought, Anna put her helmet back on and started walking again.  It wasn’t long before she heard movement in the forest off the path.  And voices, several of them, speaking Swahili.  She froze.  Insurgents? Or had Lockhart, Vasilek, and the MCA sergeant managed to find each other? 

The only way to find out was to move closer.  She threaded her way through a gap in the undergrowth, freezing again when the voices became angry.  They quickly rose in volume, and she could now hear one of them speaking in the guttural tones of the Muscovian language.  _Vasilek?_   Anna crept closer, carefully placing her feet to keep from making any noise, her whole body on high alert. 

Then she heard a scream, much closer than she expected.  Anna dropped to her hands and knees, scurrying across the ground like a bug. Another scream, this one quickly cut off, and she went all the way onto her belly and crawled toward the sound. With her face so close to the ground, the putrid odors of the jungle floor almost overwhelmed her, and it was all she could do to keep from gagging. 

She reached the edge of a small clearing.  There were two Africans, dressed in dirty t-shirts and baggy shorts, AK-47s slung over their backs.  They had Captain Vasilek tied spread-eagled to a tree.  The larger African, who had some sort of animal skin draped around his shoulders, was working the Muscovian captain over with a bayonet.  Blood ran down Vasilek’s face and chest, and the only reason he wasn’t screaming was because his mouth was stuffed full of the nasty crap from the jungle floor.

Anna dug the nine-mil out of her cargo pocket and inched around the base of a large tree.  Bracing herself against the trunk, she gripped her weapon with both hands and tried to line up a shot.  The men were fifty feet away, at most.  But the vegetation was so thick she had trouble getting a sight picture.  

A nine-millimeter pistol against two AK-47s!  She’d only have one chance.  Sweat ran down into her eyes, stinging them, and she blinked it away rapidly.

Animal Skin yanked Vasilek’s pants down and moved back, snapping a harsh word at the other insurgent. The smaller African stepped forward, raising a wicked-looking machete.  Vasilek’s eyes bugged out, and now he did manage a muffled scream, rotten vegetation spewing from his mouth.  Anna almost screamed herself when she realized what was about to happen. 

Instead, she pulled the trigger.

Machete Man’s body jerked around as the bullet struck, but she didn’t wait to see if he fell.  Animal Skin was already unslinging his weapon, looking around frantically.  Anna shifted her aim and squeezed off another shot.  It hit the man in the eye, and he just stood there for a moment, looking almost surprised, before crumpling to the ground.

Both insurgents were down now.  Anna ran over and snatched up the bayonet to cut Vasilek loose.  He staggered a few steps before he caught his balance and pulled up his pants.  Then, his face twisted with rage, he snatched up Animal Skin’s AK-47 and fired half a dozen rounds into the man’s body. 

Anna turned away from the bloody mess, her stomach churning.  A hand grabbed her pants leg.  She jumped, letting out a little gasp, and looked down to see Machete Man’s wide frightened eyes. 

_Oh my God, he’s just a kid!_

He couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old.  Her shot had hit him in the throat, and he was choking on his own blood.  She watched in horror as he took a last rattling breath before his hand fell away, his big brown eyes blank and unseeing.

Anna stumbled a few steps away and threw up.

When she straightened up, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she saw that Vasilek was now sitting down, his back against the same tree he’d been tied to.  She started to go check on him but swung around at the sound of voices in the trees beyond the small clearing.  She dropped to one knee and raised her pistol.

“Hold your fire,” Lockhart’s voice came from somewhere in the thick vegetation.  “It’s Lockhart and Okoye.” 

A few moments later, Lockhart and the MCA sergeant, Okoye, came into view, both with their weapons unslung and held ready.  Lockhart took in the scene grimly, while Okoye went to check on the Muscovian.

“You okay, LT?” Lockhart asked.  Anna nodded, though she wasn’t sure she was done being sick.  “What happened?”

“They had Vasilek tied to a tree, and were working on him with a knife.  I think they were going to cut off his…” she waved her hand in front of her crotch, “…you know.”

Lockhart’s mouth tightened into a hard line.  “Yeah, they’ve been known to do that, especially to villagers who refuse to join the cause.  Stuff their own dicks into their mouths and parade them through the villages as a warning to others.  It can be a very compelling argument.”

Anna’s eyes widened.  “That’s…barbaric,” she managed.  She swallowed hard, biting back her nausea.  She did not want to puke in front of him.

He met her eyes.  “LT, you have to understand, some of these people just came out of the jungle a few years ago.  ‘Civilized’ isn’t a word that has any meaning here.”  He eyed the dead insurgents.  “So you took out these guys?”

“Yeah.”  She deliberately didn’t look at the dead boy, scanning the jungle around them instead.  She heard Lockhart shuffling around, then he pushed an AK-47 into her hands. She looked up at him in surprise.

“A bit more power than that nine-mil.  Besides, it’s not like he needs it anymore.”

“He was just a kid,” Anna mumbled.  She examined the rifle, quickly figuring out how to clear, reload and safe it. Lockhart held out extra magazines, but didn’t let go when she tried to take them.  She looked up at him.

“Yeah, he was a kid. A kid who was about to feed the captain his own cock.  I probably don’t need to tell you what would happen to an attractive young woman.  They don’t follow the rules out here, LT.  You understand?”

Anna just stared at him for a few seconds, her imagination running wild.  One more thing she hadn’t thought about in her scheming to get to the outpost.  She clamped down on the urge to vomit again, her skin crawling.  She gave him a terse nod.  “What now?” 

“We need to get to the outpost.  We’re not that far away – we were already on approach to the DZ when the plane got hit.” He pulled out a ruggedized handheld GPS and poked at it with a thick finger. 

While Lockhart was occupied with the GPS, Anna walked over to where Captain Vasilek sat propped against the tree and squatted down next to him.  Sergeant Okoye had applied field dressings to the worst of the wounds, but blood still seeped from the cuts on his face and chest. 

“Are you all right? Are you going to be able to move?” Anna asked him.

“I do not see that I have much choice.”  Vasilek tried to push himself to his feet, grunting in pain.  Okoye put a hand on his arm, keeping him from standing.

“Do you have a map, Captain?” Lockhart asked, looking at his GPS.  “It looks like we’re about ten, twelve klicks from the outpost, as the crow flies.”

“Yes.”  He said something to Okoye in Swahili, pointing off to one side of the clearing.  Okoye trotted over to the captain’s gear and brought back a green canvas pouch. Vasilek pulled a map from it and spread it on the ground. 

Anna bent over the map with Lockhart and Vasilek.  No roads, no towns, nothing but an uninterrupted expanse of green between their location and the outpost.  How many insurgents between here and there?  She tightened her grip on the AK-47.  She was going to have to rely on Lockhart.  Could he get them to their destination without her having to use it?

 

* * *

 

 

The Honorable J. Ellison Smithfield, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the United States to the Court of the Crocus Throne, had to actually stop himself from fidgeting as he stood waiting in Queen Elsa’s outer office.  In his forty-plus years in business and politics, he had taken meetings with people ranging from local Chambers of Commerce to the President of the United States, and he had never felt the same trepidation that he did at that moment. 

Then again, he had never dragged a head of state out of her bed in the middle of the night to tell her that that his country had lost her only sister, her only remaining _family_.

Well, not _lost_ her, precisely – they had a vague idea of where Princess Anna might be, maybe – but they didn’t know exactly where she was, or if they would be able to find her.  Or really, if she was even still alive.  Of course, he had no intention of mentioning _that_ possibility without confirmation.

Smithfield found himself shuffling his feet again and stiffened, irritated with himself.  _She’s a twenty-five-year-old woman!_   Why was he so nervous?

_Pull yourself together_ , he told himself.  Afraid of a woman who was younger than his youngest child!

Young or not, Queen Elsa hardly naïve.  She had been Arendelle’s ruler since she was barely a legal adult.  She was beautiful, smart as a whip, and did not suffer fools. Smithfield had been on the receiving end of her rather…icy…temper before.  He did not care to repeat the experience. 

He suppressed a sigh. How had he ended up in the Nordic country of Arendelle, of all places?  He had expected to be rewarded with an ambassadorship in exchange for throwing his considerable influence behind the current U.S. President, basically hand-delivering the man his home state in the last election.  But he thought he would receive one of the more prestigious postings, perhaps one of the Continental nations, or at least somewhere with a more tolerable climate, like Brazil or Australia.  Smithfield could barely abide what passed for winter in his native home of North Carolina.  The long, brutal Arendelle winters were not at all to his liking.

Perhaps the President needed to be reminded that North Carolina was still a swing state, and that his support there was precarious. 

The door to the Queen’s office opened, and a tall, middle-aged woman stepped out. “Gentlemen, Her Majesty will see you now.”  She waved them through. 

Smithfield shot a glance at the other men with him.  Minister Stenhammer’s face was impassive, but Admiral Haldorsen’s betrayed a hint of anxiety. Small wonder, since the admiral had been the one to suggest sending Princess Anna to Africa in the first place. The Queen’s wrath might fall heavily on him as well.

The three men went into the office, trailed by the Queen’s bodyguard, a man named Handler.  Queen Elsa stood behind her desk, watching them warily, her hands resting on the desktop.  Dressed hastily in an oversized sweater and old jeans, her white-blonde hair in a loose braid, she looked even younger than usual.  In fact, she seemed barely older than Smithfield’s teenage granddaughter.

Smithfield was now nervous for an entirely different reason.  In her casual clothes, the young queen looked terribly vulnerable.  Their news was likely to break her heart. 

“Gentlemen,” the Queen said, “I trust you have good reason for pulling me out of bed at this hour.” 

Smithfield, Stenhammer, and Haldorsen all side-eyed one another, each hoping that someone else would speak up first.  Finally, Stenhammer cleared his throat and said, “Your Majesty, I regret to inform you…Her Highness, Princess Anna, has gone missing in Muscovian Central Africa.” 

The Queen just stared at him for a moment, and the room’s temperature took a noticeable dip.  “What do you mean,” she asked, enunciating each word carefully, “Anna has ‘gone missing’?”

Smithfield tried to explain. “Your Majesty, Princess Anna did not show for this morning’s – yesterday morning’s? -  scheduled conference in Maniema, and she did not respond to repeated phone calls and knocks at her door.  When the lodging manager opened the door to her suite, she was not in it. All of her luggage appeared to be there - ”

“Are you trying to tell me that you _lost_ my sister, Mr. Ambassador?” 

Smithfield swallowed as frost spread across the desktop and the room got even cooler.  “Your Majesty, Princess Anna was seen leaving the VIP quarters around 4 AM, wearing a field uniform…”

He went on to explain how they had traced Princess Anna’s movements, questioning officers and soldiers from all across the base until they finally figured out that she had boarded an aircraft scheduled to make a supply-and-reinforcement drop to an outpost on MCA’s border with Kivu.

“So she’s out at a remote outpost in the middle of a war zone?” 

“Th-the…” Smithfield stuttered, then took a deep breath to collect himself.  “The plane sent out a mayday, saying that they had been hit by anti-aircraft fire.  That...that was the last they were heard from.  The supplies for the outpost were never dropped.”

The Queen’s eyes widened, and she stumbled back as though struck, her arms wrapping around her middle. “No….” she whispered. 

Ice crackled from beneath her feet, spreading across the floor and climbing the walls.  Snow began to fall around them.  Smithfield shivered violently.  He’d been in Arendelle for several years, and knew about the Queen’s…abilities, but it was the first time he’d seen them with his own eyes.

There was beauty in them, and he was impressed.  And deeply worried.  This seemed like an involuntary reaction to stress.  What could she do when she consciously chose to direct her powers? Say, at his own country?

It was August, but he began to wonder if the warm Arendelle summer was about to come to an abrupt end.

“Your Majesty,” Admiral Haldorsen said, “please, there is some hope.  According to our military attaché in Kohro, the outpost reported that a handful of personnel parachutes, paratroopers, were seen in the air before the plane went down.  It is possible that Princess Anna was one of them.”

The Queen gave him a bleak look.  “So she got out of a damaged aircraft to jump into the middle of a civil war?  Without even the safety of a military outpost? Does the MCA government have any control over that province?”

“It’s…hotly contested,” the Admiral admitted.

“Is Marshmallow lost as well?”

_Marshmallow?_ Smithfield wondered.

 This time it was Handler, the security man, who answered.  “No, Your Majesty, Princess Anna did not tell Marshmallow where she was going or what she was doing.  When I spoke with him earlier - ”

The Queen gaped at him. “ 'Earlier’?” she parroted.  “When, _earlier_?”

“This afternoon,” Handler said.  “There is an American Green Beret – “

“You _knew_?!” the Queen interrupted, glaring daggers at her bodyguard.  “You _knew_ about this?  You knew she was missing and didn’t tell me?!”

All four men shot nervous glances around the room as icy spikes grew from the walls.  The temperature plummeted and the wind picked up, whipping snow around the office.

“Your Majesty…” Handler took a step forward as the Queen sank into her chair, head in her hands.

“Get out.  All of you.”

“Elsa…” Handler began.

“I said, get out!” The Queen threw her hand out, and ice spikes erupted from the floor between her and the men, their razor-sharp tips glittering dangerously.  “Just…get out.”  Her voice broke on the last word.

The four men retreated into the outer office.  A gust of wind slammed the door between them and the Queen, but not before the sounds of her sobs reached them.  The woman who had ushered them in still waited, her eyes wide with concern. Frost had begun forming along the walls out here as well.

“Revel, what in the world…?” the woman asked Handler.  “What has Her Majesty so upset?”  Her hand flew to her mouth as Handler explained, and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, no…”

“Can you take care of her, Gerda?”  Handler asked.

Gerda nodded.  “I may need to wait until…”  She waved at the frost covering the walls.

Handler nodded and escorted Smithfield, Stenhammer, and Haldorsen out. 

“Well, Your Excellency,” Stenhammer said to Smithfield as they walked along the wide corridor, “I hope that your people find the Princess soon.  For both our countries’ sakes.”

Smithfield just nodded. There was nothing to be gained in pointing out that Princess Anna was a foolish young woman who had ditched her own bodyguard to go gallivanting about the dangerous Central African jungle. The one bright spot was that an American Green Beret sergeant was missing as well, and was thought to have gone with the Princess.  If they both had gotten out of the aircraft, there was a chance that they could get her back alive.

Smithfield glanced out a window as they continued down the corridor.  In the lights of the courtyard, he could see fat white snowflakes falling steadily to the ground.

 

 

 

 

 

           


	6. The Americans Want What? pt 5 or Ten Pounds of Crazy

“This doesn’t look promising,” Lockhart said.

 

The four of them crouched just below the crest of a hill overlooking the Kivu border outpost. They were on the edge of what appeared to be a no-man’s land: a relatively open area strewn with barbed wire, probably mined, trees and ground torn up by mortar shells. 

 

They had spent the last two nights creeping through the rebel-occupied jungle, sometimes literally crawling on their bellies to avoid contact.  Anna had quickly realized how unprepared she actually was to operate in such conditions.  Not only did she have no food or water, she had very little idea of how to go about getting any in this environment.  She had learned more about survival in the last two days than she had learned in a year at the Krigsskolen.  Though to be fair, the Arendelle Army didn’t exactly focus on operations in equatorial jungles.  Anna wiped the sweat from her face and thought back to the freezing weeks she’d spent in glacier training with almost nostalgic fondness.

 

_Number one rule of survival, don’t eat Muscovian MREs_.  MREs, or Meals-Ready-to-Eat (two lies for the price of one) were the bane of soldiers the world over, but the Muscovian ones were particularly vile.  Anna grimaced as she took a swing of treated water from the canteen Lockhart loaned her. Even the chemical taste couldn’t wash away the lingering foulness of the canned meat substance thing that Vasilek had shared with her.

 

_And I thought the lutefisk in ours was bad_. 

 

Despite all their sneaking around, they still had a problem.  As far as the Muscovians and MCA soldiers in the outpost were concerned, anybody out in the surrounding jungle was an insurgent.  If they saw any movement out here, they would bring the area under fire.  Judging from the craters and shot-down trees, conservation of ammunition wasn’t one of their priorities.

 

They were three hundred yards from safety, but it might as well be three hundred miles.

 

How could they let the soldiers in the outpost know they were out here – and friendly – without getting blown away?  Vasilek had a radio, but had been unable to raise anyone.  He kept switching between frequencies and muttering under his breath in Muscovian.

 

“There has to be some dead space in the coverage somewhere,” Anna said. 

 

“No dead space,” Vasilek said, pointing at the ragged animal carcasses around the outpost.  “Just dead.”

 

Okoye said something, and the three men fell into a discussion in Swahili.  Anna turned her attention back to the outpost.  The ground surrounding it looked like a killing field.

 

How the hell had Vasilek’s squad planned to approach this place safely?  He couldn’t even talk to them on the radio.  _There’s gotta be a way to let them know we’re here._  She studied the fortifications, squinting into the early morning sun, and added binoculars to her mental list of Things to Remember to Bring to the War Zone. 

 

_Wait, is that smoke?  Cook fires?_

 

Latching onto a glimmer of an idea, Anna got to her feet and started gathering dead brush, leaves, and twigs from the mowed-down trees around the edges of no-man’s land.  Once she had a knee-high pile, she borrowed Vasilek’s lighter.

 

“What are you doing, LT?” Lockhart asked.

 

Anna flicked the lighter. “Getting their attention.”

 

Lockhart grabbed her wrist. “What?!” 

 

“Look,” Anna said, waving her hand at the outpost, “We can hang around out here and hope that an animal wanders through there, and we can see where it gets blown away from.  Or we start a fire to get their attention and wait until they get done shooting it up, then we come out with our hands up.”

 

Lockhart and Vasilek stared at her like she’d sprouted a second head.

 

“I mean, we’d have to get far enough away after we start the fire so that we don’t get blown away, but we can crawl back to it before we stand up and raise our hands...” 

 

They just gaped at her. 

 

Anna flushed.  “Hey, I don’t hear you guys coming up with a better idea.  Besides, if we stay out here, the rebels might find us and carve us up with machetes.  _After_ they feed you your own genitals, or do…other things,” she added under her breath.

 

The men looked at each other.  Then Vasilek shrugged and said, “Why not?  I have no better ideas.”

 

Anna flicked the lighter again.  “No, wait - ” Lockhart began as she touched it to the pile.  It smoldered at first, smoke pouring from it, and Anna worried that it wouldn’t catch.  Then suddenly, a spark hit dry brush, and the pile went up with a _whoosh_.  They jumped back at the crack of gunfire, and splinters showered around them as rounds smacked into a tree just over Lockhart’s head.

 

“Shit!”  Lockhart shoved Anna toward the jungle.  “Go, go!  Run!”

 

Anna didn’t have to be told twice.  She took off, crashing through the undergrowth and weaving between the trees as bullets flew around her.  The muffled _whoomp_ of a mortar firing reached her ears, and she let out a little scream as a round impacted way too close for comfort.  Shrapnel ripped through the foliage.  She ducked her head and sprinted another fifty yards before throwing herself facedown into a small depression behind a tree.  A few seconds later, she heard a grunt as Lockhart landed on the ground next to her.

 

The two flattened themselves into the ground, fingers in their ears, while mortar and small arms fire rained around them like a deafening hailstorm.  After what seemed like an eternity, the shooting slowed and then stopped.  The outpost was apparently satisfied that whatever was out here was no longer a threat.

 

She peered around the tree.  _Holy shit_.  The devastation of the no-man’s land now extended another twenty yards into the forest around where they’d started the fire. 

_I didn’t really think that one all the way through._  

 

“What the fuck?!” Lockhart yelled.  Anna turned back to see him staring at her, his brown eyes round as saucers.  “LT, you are ten pounds of crazy in a five-pound bag.”

 

Before Anna could retort, something struck her on the back, knocking her onto her face.  A sandaled foot stepped into her line of vision just before a rifle butt crashed against her head, and everything went black.

 

 

* * *

 

_“Anna!  Anna!”_

_Her sister’s frantic voice cuts through the fog in Anna’s head. She mumbles a protest and snuggles closer to the warmth against her cheek, hints of mint and pine filling her nose. The scents of security and friendship and love._

_It’s been so long since Elsa hugged her.  Or even paid any attention to her.  So she ignores the pain in her arm and presses closer.  This is her favorite place to be, wrapped in her big sister’s arms, the warmest, safest place in the whole world._

_“I’m sorry, Anna.  It’s all my fault…”_

_Then Elsa is gone, pulled away by an unseen hand.  Anna reaches for her, crying “No, Elsa, come back!”_

___________

 

“Elsa!”  _Is that my voice?_

 

There was still warmth against her cheek, but it was different.  Callused, rough.  Anna took a deep breath, her nose wrinkling.  Definitely not Elsa.

 

“LT?  LT, you there?”

 

Anna opened hazy eyes. It took a moment for the dark blur hovering above her to resolve into the worried face of Sergeant Lockhart.

 

_What happened?_

She tried to sit up. A sharp pain lanced through her skull.  _Oh…bad idea_ … She grabbed her head with both hands. 

 

“Relax, LT.” Lockhart’s big hands grasped her shoulders and guided her back down.  “Give yourself a few minutes.”

 

Anna closed her eyes and tried to catalog her surroundings.  The rattle of a truck engine.  The low murmur of voices.  A hard metal floor vibrating against her back.  Humid air thick with the odor of unwashed bodies. Suddenly it was all too much. She rolled to her side just before her last meal made a violent reappearance.  She wiped her mouth and curled into a ball, shivering despite the heat.

 

“Concussion, I bet,” another voice said.  It sounded American.  “But we still need to roll.”

 

“Yeah, okay.”  Lockhart’s voice again, edged with anger.  She heard him moving around her.  Cleaning up her mess?

 

_He’s done that more than once_ , she realized through the fog in her head.

 

The truck engine revved, and Anna bounced painfully against the floor as the vehicle lurched forward. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself upright.  A hand between her shoulder blades supported her as she sat up.  Her head throbbed, but at least it wasn’t banging off the floor anymore. 

 

“Easy,” Lockhart said. He handed her a canteen.

 

She peered at him owlishly as she sipped the chemical-tasting water.  Then she looked around.  They were sitting in the canopy-covered bed of a truck, which jolted its way down a rutted road.  She gasped when she realized they were surrounded by armed Africans who were dressed in motley combinations of uniforms and civilian clothes.  Her hand dropped to her thigh to paw for her pistol.

 

Lockhart grabbed her wrist.  “It’s okay. We’re safe.  How much do you remember?”

 

Anna frowned.  Her thoughts were still a bit muddled.  She remembered looking out over the outpost… “I…I started a fire,” she said.  “They started shooting, we ran...”  She winced and rubbed her head.  “What happened to me?”

 

“One of these geniuses whacked you with a rifle.”  He glared at one of the African men.

 

“Bit, man, I’m sorry,” the man said.  It was his voice she’d heard earlier.  “Joseph didn’t recognize her uniform, thought she was a Musco.”  He pointed at a man across from him, who hung his head and said something in Swahili.  “He offers his apologies, ma’am,” he translated.

 

Anna stared at him. He wore ratty uniform pants and a sweat-stained civilian shirt, but he seemed more… _robust_ than the other men – lean and hard instead of just skinny. “You’re American,” she accused.

 

“Yes,” he said after a moment.  He shot a glance at Lockhart.

 

_Why is there an American here?  Is he the only one?  How many more? Why is he with the rebels?_   She tried to corral the questions that danced around in her brain.

 

“Are you a mercenary?” she finally managed.

 

The man snorted out a laugh. “I believe the politically correct term is ‘contractor,’ but no.”

 

“Lieutenant Arendelle,” Lockhart said with a grim smile, “meet Captain Jefferson of Third Special Forces Group.”

 

Captain Jefferson flashed a pearly smile as he extended his hand.  Anna shook it automatically before her brain caught up.

 

_Third Special Forces Group?_

_Wait, what?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Elsa gasped at the sight of her little sister lying still on the cobblestones.  “Anna!” she screamed, her previous irritation swept away by dread.   She pushed her way through the gathering bystanders, dropping to her knees to wrap Anna in her arms. “Anna, please, wake up!”_

_Terror gripped her when Anna didn’t respond.  She saw her sister’s arm, the wrist bent at an impossible angle.  “Someone get help!” she screamed.  Tears spilled down her face and froze to her cheeks._

_“I’ve got you,” she whispered, squeezing Anna against her chest. Her magic roiled inside her, desperate for release.  She ignored the startled cries of the onlookers as ice spread from beneath her feet to coat the cobblestones in a slick, dangerous layer._

_“I’m sorry, Anna, it’s all my fault…”_

 

“Your Majesty?”

 

Elsa whipped her head around to find her Trade Minister eyeing her with concern.  Then she realized that everything on the table was covered in a light film of frost.  _Damn_. 

 

“Your Majesty, are you all right?”

 

She took a calming breath and dissipated the frost with a wave of her hand.

 

“I’m fine.  I apologize, Minister, I’ve had a lot on my mind. What was the question again?”

 

“Do you still want to include fish import license discussions on the agenda for your meeting with President Westergard?”

 

“Yes.”  Elsa managed not to grind her teeth, but just barely. The Southern Isles’ restrictive licensing practices were hurting a number of Arendelle’s small, family-owned fishing businesses.

 

The Deputy Foreign Minister for Continental Affairs spoke up.  “He will not be happy about that, Your Majesty.”

 

“I don’t care,” Elsa snapped.  “It’s hurting business here and in the Southern Isles, and there’s no reason for it other than pandering to the wingnuts in his own party.”  She had no intention of helping Westergard get re-elected at the expense of Arendelle’s traditional fishermen.

 

Besides, if she had to listen to his fantasies about her marrying his youngest son, then he would damn well listen to her talk about import licenses.

 

“Is there anything else that needs my attention before Westergard arrives?” she asked.

 

“No, Your Majesty,” the Trade Minister said.  “I will meet with my Southern Isles counterpart tomorrow.”

 

She dismissed them with a wave of her hand.  As soon as the door closed behind them, she sagged in her chair.  The conference table was instantly covered in frost again. This time she didn’t bother to wave it away, just letting spread across the room as she went to the window to gaze out over the courtyard. It was snowing again, and the people in the courtyard looked quizzically up at the warm summer sky.  It took all of her diminishing control to make the snow stop.

 

_I never should have let her go. I should have kept her here, where I know she’s safe._

 

That day in the market square played in her head over and over again.  Ten-year-old Anna skipping along the seawall next to the fjord, spinning around the light posts, longing to catch the attention of her older sister. Elsa, thirteen and angry at being forced to have her kid sister tag along, embarrassed by Anna’s behavior and pointedly ignoring her.

 

_“Elsa, watch!”_

_“Go away, Anna.”_

_Elsa rolled her eyes as Anna shimmied up a support beam to the roof of the covered market.  “God, Anna, you’re so immature,” she muttered under her breath.  She would have loved to pretend that Anna wasn’t related to her, but their faces were too familiar.  The vendors in the market didn’t help - they all smiled indulgently at Anna’s antics and offered her treats._

_Elsa huffed and turned away, walking down the pier.  She couldn’t leave Anna there, but that didn’t mean she had to stay right by her side all the time.  It was so unfair, the way Mamma and Poppa always made her take Anna everywhere with her._

_Anna danced across the peak of the market roof.  “Elsa, look!”_

_“Stop bothering me, Anna!”_

_A small blast of angry magic, a patch of ice in exactly the wrong place…_

_“It’s your job to protect her, Elsa,” Poppa always said._

 

Elsa failed to protect Anna that day.  And now she’d failed to protect her again.

 

Choking back a sob, she turned away from the window.  She strode across her office and yanked the door open.  “Aggie, call the American embassy.  I want Ambassador Smithfield over here five minutes ago.”

 

A blast of arctic air blew through the outer office.  Aggie fumbled for the phone, clearly unnerved.  “Yes, Your Majesty!”

 

Elsa slammed the door, then paced her office like a caged animal.  Ice bloomed from beneath her feet with each step.  _He better have some answers for me.  If Anna doesn’t come back, I will –_  She flung a hand out, coating the far wall with a row of icy spikes.

 

“Elsa?”   Revel poked his head around the door.  Elsa whirled to see him staring at the icy barbs on the wall, concern all over his handsome features.  He stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.  “Do you think it’s wise to see the ambassador when you’re so…so…”

 

She clenched her fists over the ice that sparked from her fingertips and scowled at him.  She still hadn’t completely forgiven him for keeping the news of Anna’s disappearance from her.  “Yes!  This is the only thing they seem to understand.  I don’t care if they have nukes!  If Anna doesn’t come back…”  Ice climbed from her palms to halfway up her forearms.

 

Revel’s eyebrows shot up. “So you’re going to take on the world’s most powerful country with your bare hands?”

 

Elsa glared at him and threw an ice blast that blew out the glass in her balcony door.  “Yes.  If Anna doesn’t come home, I will bring an eternal winter down on Washington DC.”

 

She resumed her pacing as Revel crossed to the balcony and peered down into the courtyard.  A wave of guilt swept over her when she heard him speaking into his mic, calling for someone to clean up the glass.  Hopefully it hadn’t injured anyone…

 

_Get it together.  Control yourself._

 

Her anger could be dangerous, but she was afraid if she let go of it, there would be nothing left but heartache and guilt.

 

Her power rose in her chest, an icy dragon yearning to unleash its fury.  Elsa curled in on herself in a struggle to keep the beast contained. She flinched when she felt Revel’s hands on her shoulders.

 

“Please don’t, Revel, I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

He ignored her words, turning her to face him, and wrapped her in a hug.  She stiffened for a moment before allowing herself to lean against him, desperate to believe his assurances that Anna would somehow make it home.

 

 


	7. The Americans Want What? pt 6 or You Don't Know What We Can Find

The truck lurched to a halt after a long and bumpy ride.  Anna swore softly as her head bounced against the back of the cab.  Again.  She had spent most of the trip propped up there, fighting nausea, headache, and dizziness.  She had asked a few times where they were going and who they were with and what happened to Vasilek and Okoye, but if anyone gave her a straight answer, she couldn’t remember what it was. 

 

The rebel soldiers piled out of the back of the truck.  Anna followed slowly.  She winced when her feet hit the ground and another bolt of pain shot through her skull. “My kingdom for an Advil,” she muttered, rubbing her head.

 

A canteen appeared in front of her face.  “Ask and ye shall receive,” Captain Jefferson said with a grin.  He placed a large white pill in her hand.  “Twelve hundred milligrams of Motrin,” he explained at her questioning look.  “Also known as Ranger candy, and the cure to anything that ails you, at least according to Doc.”

 

Anna popped the pill in her mouth and chased it with a big swig from the canteen, almost gagging at the bitter, fruit-like taste of the drink.  It was all she could do to choke it down.  “Oh, yuck, what is _in_ this??”

 

“MRE koolaid powder.”

 

“What flavor is that supposed to be?”

 

“Well, there’s not really flavors, just colors.  That’s the red kind.  There’s also an orange kind and a green kind, each equally disgusting.”

 

“Then why drink it?”

 

“Electrolytes.”

 

Anna eyed the canteen with disgust.  She needed another swallow but wasn’t sure she could manage it.  Jefferson pressed a foil-wrapped bar into her hand.  The label read _Bar, Chocolate, Protein, 1 ea._

 

“Eat that,” he ordered. “Or that Motrin will tear up your stomach.”

 

Anna tore off the wrapper and took a bite.  It didn’t taste bad, but had a sawdust-like texture that sucked the moisture right out of her mouth.  She emptied the canteen in several large gulps.  It wasn’t quite so gross this time.  Maybe it was meant to combined with the dusty protein bar.  Still, Anna made a mental note to thank the makers of Arendellan MREs if she ever got home.

 

_When I get home_ , she told herself fiercely.

 

Her stomach now settled a bit, she looked around.  They were in the middle of a large camp.  Not strictly a military camp either, though plenty of armed men roamed around.  It looked more like the refugee camps Anna had seen on the news.  Shelters dotted the area, ranging from makeshift lean-tos made with tarps to more permanent-looking soil-and-grass huts.  There were even a few metal shipping containers.    _Bet those are super-hot on the inside_.

 

Lockhart appeared and gestured for her to follow him.  They wound their way through the camp, dodging around women washing and cooking, and groups of boys playing football.  They pointed and stared at Anna as she passed by, and she wondered if any of them had ever seen a red-haired white woman before.

 

Lockhart seemed to know his way around.  Had he been here before?  He obviously knew Captain Jefferson.  How many Americans were here?  A Special Forces A-team had ten…no, twelve? – men.  _A commander, weapons guys, intel guys, medics…_ Anna tried to pull up what little she knew about American Green Berets from the fuzzy recesses of her brain. 

 

She followed Lockhart to the outskirts of the camp, where a small wooden house sat between the trees.  It was the most well-kept structure she’d seen so far, up on short stilts, with a wide porch.  A placard with a red cross hung next to the front door.  They climbed the front steps and went inside.  A tall, ascetic-looking black man sat at a field table, pecking away at a laptop.

 

“Hey, Doc,” Lockhart called.

 

The man looked up, his eyes widening in surprise.  “Bit? What the hell are you doing here?” He rose and pulled Lockhart into a quick embrace.

 

Lockhart grinned and said, “Long story, but I was in the area, and decided to…drop in.”

 

“Literally,” Anna said. Doc looked askance at her.

 

“LT, this is Sergeant Lucas, but we all call him Doc.  Doc, this is Lieutenant Arendelle, and she _definitely_ needs her head examined.” 

 

“Fuck you, Lockhart,” Anna mumbled.  The Motrin had not even begun to touch her headache. 

 

Lockhart laughed.  “What we have here, Doc, is a real-life Viking warrior princess.  A bona fide Valkyrie.  You may want to check for all your appendages when you’re done with her.” 

 

Unable to conjure a suitable retort, Anna gave him the finger. 

 

A bewildered Doc led them into a back room equipped with an examining table and medical supplies. Anna sighed as she sat on the table. The room was blissfully cool, courtesy of an overworked window air conditioner.  Under the AC unit’s rattling, she could hear the rumble of a generator.

 

Doc took his time examining her, probing gently around her head, passing a light over her eyes, and asking questions about how she felt and what had happened.  He looked at Lockhart for confirmation of her version of events.  He gaped at her when she told him about starting the fire, but refrained from offering editorial comments. 

 

Finally he said, “Concussion.  Seems to be mild, but you’ll probably have some symptoms for a couple of weeks. Headaches mostly.”

 

He rummaged in a cabinet and came out with a baggie of the large white Motrin pills.  “These will help with the headaches.  No more than two a day.  Make sure you eat when you take them.  You need to rest as much you can, not that this environment is really conducive to that.  If you feel dizzy or start vomiting or have vision problems, let me know immediately. Do you understand?” 

 

“Yes,” Anna said.  She took the baggie.  Her headache _was_ starting to subside some.

 

“In the meantime,” he said to Lockhart, “keep an eye on her.  Watch for slurred speech, stuff like that.  Your first priority should be to get her out of here.”

 

Lockhart nodded, but said nothing.  He led Anna out of the little clinic, where a young African woman waited for them.  She and Lockhart had a conversation in Swahili.  Lockhart seemed agitated, gesturing sharply as his voice rose, but the woman just crossed her arms and barked back at him.  He sighed and said to Anna, “This is Neema.  She’ll show you where you can clean up and get some rest.”

 

Anna eyed him suspiciously. “What was that all about?”

 

“She insists that you go to the women’s area.  I’m not allowed there.  It will be all right, LT,” he added at her alarmed expression.  “Trust me, nothing will happen to you here.”

 

Anna wanted to argue, wanted to give voice to the dozens of questions pinging around in her head, but she also just wanted to sleep, and she couldn’t seem to get all those thoughts to form into anything coherent.  So she just said, “Okay.”

 

She smiled at Neema. The other woman’s dark features were mostly hidden under a colorful headscarf, but her sharp brown eyes swept over Anna.  There was something strangely familiar about the appraising gaze, and it was all Anna could do not to squirm under the scrutiny.  Finally Neema turned away, gesturing at Anna to follow.

 

They wove back through the camp to one of the larger huts, where Neema waved her through the low doorway. The inside of the hut was light and clean. A single bed sat against the far wall, along with a chest of drawers, a small desk, and a couple of low bookcases.  A metal shower stall stood opposite the bed.   Colorful woven rugs covered the wood floor. 

 

Neema gave her a towel and small hotel-sized bottles of soap and shampoo, then backed out of the hut without a word.  Anna stared after her, still trying to put her finger on what felt familiar about the woman.  The answer seemed to hover just outside the edge of her perception.

 

With a sigh, she stripped off her filthy uniform, nose wrinkling as her own body odor wafted up around her.  _Oh my God, I’m foul_ …  She wondered if the uniform could even be cleaned.  _Maybe I should just have it burned_.

 

The shower was a simple gravity feed.  The water ran at barely more than a trickle, but it felt heavenly.  Anna scrubbed her hair and body multiple times, feeling pounds lighter as the dirt flowed off of her in a soapy gray stream.

 

She stepped out of the shower to find her uniform gone and a lightweight shift laid out on the bed. Too tired to wonder about it, she put on the shift and collapsed onto the bed.  She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

 

 

******

 

 

A gentle shaking interrupted Anna’s strange dream, where she had been talking to her own doppelganger. The dream-Anna, who wore her red hair in twin braids and was dressed in a traditional Arendellan bunad, also had a sister with snow powers.  The sister had apparently frozen their entire kingdom during an anxiety attack, then fled to the North Mountain to live alone in a palace made entirely of ice.

 

“Five more minutes, Elsa,” she mumbled, pulling the pillow over her head.  Dream-Anna was showing her the white streak in her hair, explaining that she got it when her sister (also named Elsa) struck her with her magic.

 

The shaking continued, accompanied by a child’s giggle.  Anna reluctantly opened one eye.  A little girl of about eight stood next to the bed, wearing a bright orange dress and a snaggle-toothed smile.  Anna pushed herself upright and rubbed her eyes.  The hut was lit by a small lantern, but it was dark outside.  _How long have I been asleep?_

 

The little girl giggled again.  “Your hair is funny,” she said.

 

Anna looked at her in surprise.  “You speak English?”

 

The girl nodded. “Your hair is big,” she said, holding her hands out to the side of her head to show her meaning.

 

Anna groaned.  She could only imagine.  Her bedhead was unruly on the best of days, and she had gone to sleep with wet unbrushed hair, which meant it would be damn near impossible to tame.  The little girl laughed again. The sound was infectious, and Anna couldn’t help but smile. “What’s your name?” she asked.

 

“Zuri.”

 

“Where did you learn to speak English, Zuri?”

 

“At the missionary school.”

 

_Missionary school?_   Anna didn’t remember seeing a school in her brief wanderings around the camp.  Then again, mostly what she remembered was her hellacious headache.  She rubbed her temples.  At least the headache was now down to a manageable throb.  She wondered if it was too soon to take another Motrin.

 

Anna swung her legs out of bed and looked around. “Zuri, do you know where my clothes are?”

 

“I washed them, but they are still on the drying line. I brought these for you.”  Zuri pointed to a bundle at the end of the bed. “I’ll wait outside for you.”  She ducked out of the hut.

 

Anna picked up the bundle, which turned out to be a yellow blouse, a long skirt, and a headscarf.  The skirt and scarf were both red with bold blue and yellow geometric patterns.  It looked similar to the clothing that Neema had been wearing.  There was also a pair of sandals. 

 

She stared at the clothing for a long moment. Something wasn’t right here, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.  _You mean something besides being stuck in a rebel camp somewhere in the Central African boonies?_  But the feeling persisted, and Anna felt the first flickers of anger.  She wanted answers.

 

Anna stuck her head out of the hut, where Zuri stood waiting for her.  “Zuri, could you go get my clothes?”

 

The little girl pulled a face.  “You don’t like the ones I brought?”

 

Anna gave her a gentle smile. “Oh, they’re beautiful, sweetie, but for what I have to do, I think I need my own clothes.  Okay?”

 

Zuri nodded and disappeared between the other buildings.  Anna paced, trying to collect her thoughts.  Why had the Americans requested Arendelle’s help in MCA?  Were they using her country as a piece in their ongoing game with Muscovia?  Elsa suspected they wanted Arendelle to help them justify intervention.  But they were already involved, and seemed to have chosen sides – the presence of Green Berets in the rebel camp made that clear.  She had gone into the negotiations blind.    

 

_How the fuck am I supposed to act in good faith when no one else will?_

 

Trying to distract herself from her mounting anger, Anna set about taming her wild hair.  It was difficult without a brush, but using her fingers and some water from the shower, she managed to wrestle it into a single braid.  It lay over her shoulder in the same way that Elsa wore hers, and Anna’s breath caught.  _Oh God, Elsa…_

 

What had Elsa been told? Did she think her sister was dead? Anna pressed a hand to her chest, her knees nearly giving out as she fought back tears.  She had deliberately not thought about Elsa while she focused on survival, but now Elsa was all she could think about.  Her sister, all alone with a broken heart, not knowing what happened or even if Anna’s body would ever come home. 

 

What would happen to Arendelle in Elsa’s grief?

 

_Elsa, I’m so sorry_ … 

 

 

*****

 

 

Zuri held Anna’s hand as she led her through the camp.  Cooking fires and torches lit their way, with a few lanterns hanging from cords stretched overhead.  The only electricity Anna had seen so far had been at Doc’s clinic.

 

“That’s it right there,” Zuri said, pointing at a small grass-roofed pavilion.  A small fire burned in the center of it.  Half a dozen men, most dressed in the same quasi-military clothing of the rebel fighters, sat on the floor around the fire, talking. Captain Jefferson was among them.

 

“Thank you, Zuri.” Anna gave the little girl a hug and was rewarded with another of her wide smiles. 

 

She stalked toward the pavilion.  Lockhart appeared from out of nowhere to intercept her.  “What’s going on, LT?”

 

Anna glared at him.  “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“This whole thing stinks, Lockhart!”  It was all she could do not to poke him in the chest with her finger.  “I’ve been flying blind on this thing since the beginning, and I didn’t even know it!  Why the hell didn’t you tell me there were American soldiers here already?”

 

Lockhart took her arm and steered her away from the pavilion, glancing over his shoulder.  They stopped when they reached the treeline.  “It wasn’t my place to tell you, LT.  I’m just a grunt.”

 

“I’m not buyin’ it. If you’re just a grunt, what are you doing on a _diplomatic_ delegation?  You don’t strike me as the straphanger type. Or did I just misread you?”

 

Lockhart’s expression darkened but he said nothing.

 

Anna pressed on, “There’s something up with you and Combs.  He doesn’t like you.  You said you didn’t work for him, and you have obviously been here before.  I mean here, in this camp, not just in MCA.  So what the fuck is going on? Who _do_ you work for?”

 

“C’mon, LT, there’s things I can’t talk about.”

 

“I don’t give a shit. How the hell did we end up here? Somehow being in this camp does not feel accidental.”

 

“It’s not,” another voice said from the trees.

 

Anna whirled around and peered into the darkness.  She could make out a slim, hooded figure about ten yards away.  “Who’s there?”

 

The figure turned away, waving at them to follow.  Anna shot a glance at Lockhart.  “It’s okay,” he said.  “I’ll come with you.”

 

They trailed the shadow through the trees, circling around the pavilion until they reached a small hut on the other side.  The person ducked through the door.  Anna followed.  Inside the well-lit hut was a low table surrounded by cushions.  Several platters of food were on the table, along with a bottle of wine.

 

“Please, sit down.” The person turned around and pushed a colorful headscarf back from her face.  Anna realized with a start that it was Neema. 

 

“What’s going on?” she demanded.  “Who _are_ you?”

 

“My name is Neema Sefu, and I am the leader of the Central African Freedom Movement.”

 

Anna just stared.

 

“Please, sit down, Lieutenant Arendelle.  I think we have a lot to talk about.”


	8. The Americans Want What? pt 7 or You Don't Know What We Can See

“My name is Neema Sefu, and I am the leader of the Central African Freedom Movement. Please, sit down, Lieutenant Arendelle.  I think we have a lot to talk about.”

 

_What…?_  Anna stood frozen in place, eyes darting back and forth between Neema and Lockhart.   She quashed the urge to chicken-wing Lockhart’s arm and pin his face to the floor for jerking her around.   _Like I could do that anyway._

 

Neema took one of the cushions at the head of the table, eyeing her with that eerily familiar expression again.  She gestured for Anna to sit, and Anna’s innate curiosity kicked in, overriding her wariness.

 

She settled on a cushion to Neema’s right.  Lockhart sat down opposite her.  What, exactly, was his role here?  The concussion-fueled throb in her head was becoming a distraction just when she needed her clearest thinking.

 

“Please, eat something,” Neema said.  “I suspect it has been several days since you had a decent meal.”

 

Anna’s stomach let out a loud rumble before she could reply.  She felt her cheeks heat up at the amusement on Neema’s face.  “Yes, it has been,” she said as she reached for the nearest bowl.  “MREs don’t really qualify as ‘a decent meal.’  Honestly, I’m not really sure they even qualify as actual food.”

 

Neema laughed.  “Hopefully you will find this a bit more appetizing.”

 

Following Neema’s cues, Anna cleaned her hands with the small damp towel beside her plate.  Then Neema showed her how to form the starchy paste, which she called _ugali_ , from one of her bowls into small thimble-like shapes, which were then dipped into a spicy soup and eaten in one bite.  It was surprisingly good.  Anna ate with relish, which seemed to please her hostess. The food seemed to help her headache, which ebbed to a dull thump at the edges of her temples.

 

When they finished their meal, Neema poured wine for all of them.  Anna idly swirled the glass in her hand, wondering where a rebel camp had gotten what appeared to be a fine South African wine.  Maybe the camp wasn’t as isolated as it appeared. 

 

So she asked.

 

“Despite what you may have heard about us, we are not completely uncivilized here,” Neema said.

 

Anna carefully set the glass back on the table.  “You have no idea what I’ve heard.” 

 

“You have been in conferences with the government and the Muscovians about us for the better part of a week.  I have a very good idea of what you have been told.”

 

“How do you know what I’ve been doing?  How did you even know I was here?  Our participation was not exactly publicized.” 

_Or was that something else the Americans decided not to tell me?_  

 

Her temper strained at its leash as her headache roared back.  “What the hell is going on here?  You said my being here wasn’t an accident.  What did you mean by that?”  She glared at Lockhart.  “And I know _you’re_ not telling me everything! What about Jefferson and Doc?  How many Americans are here?  Does Combs know about them?  Does he know we’re here?”

 

Lockhart held up his hands in a _slow-down_ gesture.  “I can’t talk about what Combs does or doesn’t know.”

 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

_So much for my diplomatic skills_.  Anna rubbed her temples, trying to chase away the herd of elephants thundering through her skull.  She patted around her pockets, biting back a curse when she realized she’d left the damn Motrin in the other hut.  “And what about Captain Vasilek and Sergeant Okoye?  Are they here too?”

 

“They are here,” Neema said. 

 

“Are they _okay_?” Anna demanded.

 

“They are under guard, for obvious reasons, but they have not been maltreated.”

 

 “Really?” Anna retorted.  “Vasilek didn’t look too good after a couple of your so-called soldiers got hold of him.  I hope he still has all of his… _appendages_.”    

 

Anger flitted across Neema’s face, a brief crack in her impassive mask.  Then she wore that appraising look again, and Anna could almost feel the force of her personality.  _God, she reminds me of Elsa!_   It was the same cool gaze her sister used, the one that seemed able to cut right through to the heart of a person and size them up immediately.     

 

Anna straightened her back and met Neema’s eyes.  “You said my being here, in this camp, wasn’t an accident.  What did you mean by that?” 

 

Neema said nothing for a long moment, then seemed to visibly make a decision.  “I knew you were on the resupply plane.  I asked Captain Jefferson to bring you here.”

 

“How…how did you know that?” Anna’s mind raced.  Then a nasty suspicion occurred to her, and she clenched her fists under the table.  “And if you knew that, why did you shoot the plane down?  You couldn’t possibly have predicted that I would survive that!”

 

“We did not shoot that plane down, Lieutenant Arendelle, we do not have that kind of weaponry.  We know where the outpost drop zone is located. I simply asked Captain Jefferson to try to pick you up there, if he could do it without engaging the soldiers. I did not want you harmed.”

 

“If you didn’t shoot it down, then who did?  It sure as hell wasn’t engine failure that took it down.”

 

“We are not the only fighting force out here.”

 

_The MCA army.  They have Muscovian weapons_.  Anna twisted her fingers into her pant legs to keep them away from her temples.  “But…but why would the MCA government shoot down their own airplane?”

 

“Perhaps they knew you were on it.  I did,” Neema pointed out.

 

Anna couldn’t keep her jaw from dropping.  _Assassination?_   She shot a glance at Lockhart, whose thunderous expression told her that he hadn’t considered that possibility either.  “What…what could they possibly have to gain from that?”  _From killing_ me _?_

 

“President Mwenye desperately wants to keep international groups out of Central Africa.  The murder of a neutral observer would do much to damage the reputation of CAFM, especially at the UN.” 

 

Rattled, Anna let her mouth run away from her.  “Slicing off the wangs of teenage boys who won’t join your army doesn’t do much for your reputation either.”

 

She barely kept from flinching as Neema’s fist came crashing down on the table.  The dishes clattered, and Anna grabbed at her wine glass before it could spill in her lap.  _Whoa, Anna, that wasn’t very...diplomatic. Guess Elsa’s not the only one you have a gift for needling…_

 

“I cannot control everything that the field commanders do!” Neema snarled. 

 

Anna just raised an eyebrow and glanced at Lockhart, who wore a slight smile.  Neema scowled, then took a swallow of her own wine and composed herself.  “You are correct, Lieutenant Arendelle.  The people should join us because they share our goal, not because they fear mutilation or death if they don’t.  Old warrior practices die hard, but that is not something I tolerate.  I deal with it, harshly, when I find out about it.”

 

“I dealt with it for you, no worries.”  _Shit, that was unfair, Anna.  And stupid…don’t forget stupid.  You cannot be a smart-ass with this woman._

 

Neema did not rise to the bait this time.  “You must also understand that the Muscovians have committed horrendous atrocities themselves, and we have lived with it for more than a hundred years.  Many of my soldiers have lost their whole families to the Muscovians, who exploit our people and destroy our villages.  The desire for revenge is understandable.”

 

 “Is that why you brought me here?  To justify yourself?” Anna asked.

 

“I brought you here because we have no voice at the table where decisions are being made about our future,” Neema said.  “We need someone to be that voice.”

 

“And what makes you think I’m on your side?”

 

“I think you’ll be on the side of justice.”

 

“You don’t even know me.”

 

“No, I do not.  But I do know that if you are anything like your sister, you will choose what is right.”

 

_Wait, what?_   Anna just stared at her, stunned.

 

“Yes, I know who you are, Princess Anna of Arendelle.  Your country’s reputation as a fair arbiter is largely due to the standing of the Royal Family.  I have had the privilege of meeting Queen Elsa, who is a strong credit to that standing.”

 

Anna opened and closed her mouth a few times, fighting her urge to word-vomit.  Was this whole stunt a ruse to get to Elsa?  If only the damn elephants would stop stampeding through her head and let her think straight.  Finally she managed, “May I ask where?  Where you met Elsa, I mean?”

 

“I met her at the World Humanitarian Summit a few years ago.  She was the keynote speaker.  We were introduced at the reception afterwards.”

 

“In New York, right?” Anna asked.  She remembered Elsa making a trip to New York.  Mostly what she remembered was being highly pissed that she couldn’t go along. She had been at university, in the midst of term-end exams.

 

“Yes,” Neema replied. “I doubt she would remember me. She met many people that evening, and I was simply another staff member for CARE.”

 

“And yet she inspired you to come back to lead an armed insurrection?”  Anna regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth.  _Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me?_

“LT…”  Lockhart said with an edge to his voice.

 

Neema held up her hand to silence him.  But before she could say anything, one of the rebel soldiers stuck his head through the door.

 

_“Jayei. Tafadhali kuja na mimi.”_  He gestured sharply for her to follow, a tense look on his face.   _“Haraka.”_

 

Neema shot Anna a withering look before leaving with him.

 

Lockhart let out a low chuckle.  “Well, LT, if your goal was get under her skin, I think that one was a win.”

 

Anna glared at him, struggling to think through the pounding in her head.  _What do I do now?_

 

“I need some air.”  Anna got to her feet. “And some space to think,” she added when Lockhart started to rise as well.

 

She took a deep breath when she stepped outside.  A few men still hung around the pavilion, though Captain Jefferson was no longer among them.  Snatches of angry conversation reached her ears.  Lockhart’s earlier warning popped into her head.  Perhaps walking right past a group of unhappy rebel soldiers was not the smartest idea.

 

She skirted along the treeline, intending to go back to the hut where she’d showered and take another Motrin.  But without Zuri, all the paths looked the same, and she found herself walking in circles.

 

“Oh my God,” she groaned when she passed the pavilion for the third time.  She sank onto a fallen tree at the edge of the clearing.

 

She sat there with her head in her hands, mind spinning from the meeting with Neema.  How much of what the rebel leader was true?  She knew who Anna was, had known that Anna was on the resupply plane.  How did she know that? 

 

_She must have a source - or sources – at the conference._  It was likely that there were CAFM sympathizers inside the government.  _One of them probably saw me leave, or was watching me. Guess I wasn’t as clever as I thought_.   

 

_Well, Elsa’s been Queen for seven years and she says she’s still figuring it out how to do the job.  Why should I expect to be any good at this?_

 

Elsa.  Neema obviously wanted to use Anna to get Elsa directly involved.  She knew why – Arendelle’s long-standing traditions of neutrality and humanitarian leadership gave Elsa’s voice tremendous weight internationally.  A simple statement from Elsa in support of CAFM would probably be enough to get them a seat at the table.

 

But was getting them that seat the right thing to do?  Anna buried her face in her hands as she realized that Elsa had entrusted her with nothing less than Arendelle’s international reputation.  A reputation built on centuries-old ideals of individual freedom and tolerance, but one that could be blown by one poor decision if they gave moral cover to a group that used mutilation, rape, and slaughter to recruit people to their cause. 

 

Everything she’d been through for the past few days seemed insubstantial compared to the crushing responsibility that settled over her shoulders.  Was she capable of carrying it?

 

A hand touched her knee. Anna raised her head to see Zuri standing in front of her, a wide smile on her face and the baggie of Motrin pills in her extended hand.

 

“Oh, Zuri, you’re a lifesaver.”  She took the baggie and washed down one of the horse pills with a swig from the canteen Zuri offered.  Even the foul taste of the MRE kool-ade couldn’t dim her relief.  “How did you know I needed that?”

 

“Bit told me.”  Anna followed the little girl’s pointing finger and saw Lockhart leaning against one of the pavilion support poles, talking to the soldiers.  “Did you get lost?”

 

“I did.  Guess I can’t get anywhere around here without you.”

 

Zuri grinned.  “Can I sit with you?”

 

Anna nodded and Zuri surprised her by climbing into her lap.  She gave the little girl a hug.  “Thank you for bringing me the medicine.”

 

“Bit was laughing because you were lost.”

 

_I just bet he was_.  “Why do you call him Bit?”

 

“Because he’s so _big_.”  Zuri held her arms as far apart as she could.

 

Anna giggled.  “Yes, he is.  How long have you known him?”

 

Zuri shrugged.  “He used to stay here.  But then he went away and I didn’t see him for a long time.”

 

_So I was right.  He has been here before.  That’s why he speaks the language, why he knows his way around, why he knows Neema._

 

Was Lockhart Neema’s source? Was that how she had known Anna was coming?

 

And if he was the source, did Combs and the other Americans in the delegation know about all this? Or was Lockhart acting on his own?

 

It was time to get some straight answers from him.

 

Before she could act on that thought, a shadow fell across her.  She looked up to find Lockhart standing over her, a grim look on his face.  “LT, could you come with me, please?  There’s something you need to see.”

 

“Okay.”  Curious, Anna lifted Zuri off her lap and followed Lockhart down a path away from the pavilion.  Zuri tagged along, clinging to Anna’s hand as they hustled to keep up with Lockhart’s long strides.  “Where are we going?”

 

“You’ll see.”

 

Several people rushed by them, disappearing down the path ahead of them.  Lockhart picked up the pace, and Anna and Zuri had to trot to keep up with him.  They up to Doc’s clinic, and Anna heard screams and shouts coming from behind it.  They ran around the building.  A long tent with red crosses on the sides stood behind the clinic.

 

Anna stopped short when she saw the injured people being taken off trucks parked next to the tent.  “What happened?”

 

“I don’t know for sure, but they need every hand they can get.”  He touched Zuri on the shoulder.  “Stay out here, _mdogo_.”

 

Zuri nodded, her eyes wide.

 

They ducked inside the tent to find a scene of barely controlled chaos.  All around them lay burned and wounded people, men and women and children, bloody and shrieking and crying.  Doctors and nurses shouted instructions over the noise.  Anna swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

 

“Doc, where do you need us?” Lockhart called.

 

Doc looked up from where he was crouched, examining a man whose chest was covered in blood.  He said something to the two men standing over him, and they picked up the stretcher and carried it toward the far end of the tent.  Doc pointed to a small, roundish woman who stood in the middle of a group of cots.  “Help Doctor Ekwensi.”

 

Doctor Ekwensi put them to work tending to patients who weren’t in immediate danger.  For the next several hours, Anna cleaned and bandaged wounds, started IV lines, and splinted broken bones, giving silent thanks for the Krigsskolen’s combat lifesaver training.

 

If only the training had included how to block out the cries of the wounded, ignore the smell of blood and charred flesh.

 

She tamped down hard on her anger as she worked on a woman whose belly was round with pregnancy.  Blood flowed from a hole that went all the way through the meat of the woman’s shoulder, and painful-looking burns covered one side of her face and neck.  Anna ripped open a field dressing and applied pressure to the wound.  The woman held the hand of a crying boy on the cot next to her.  Lockhart spoke gently to the boy as he splinted a broken arm.

 

“Who attacks children and pregnant women?” she muttered under her breath.

 

“The Muscovians.”  

 

Startled, Anna looked up to see Neema standing beside her.  “What?”

 

“These people were protesting at a coltan mine not far from here.  The mine’s security forces attacked them when they wouldn’t disperse.”  Neema wiped her sleeve across her sweating face.  Blood stained her blouse and skirt.  She helped Anna wrap the woman’s shoulder to hold the dressing in place.  “This is not the first time this has happened.”

 

Doctor Ekwensi stopped by and did a cursory exam, then told Anna to start an IV.   Anna tied a latex glove around the woman’s bicep, then swiped an alcohol wipe across the crook of her elbow.  She got the IV going while Neema talked to the woman.

 

The woman let loose a torrent of tearful Swahili, gesturing wildly at the boy next to her.  Anna grabbed at her arm to keep her from ripping out the IV.  Neema used a piece of tape to secure the needle to the woman’s arm.

 

“She says that the soldiers threw fire grenades at them, and shot at them when they ran. Then they chased them into the forest and beat the people they could catch,” Neema translated.  She frowned as the woman went on.  “Her son’s arm was broken when he tried to protect her from being beaten.”

 

Anna bit back a curse as she squatted down next to the boy.  He couldn’t have been a day older than ten.  “MCA troops did this?  Or the mine security?”

 

“There is little difference.  The mine security forces are like private armies. They are often better armed than the government soldiers, who just turn a blind eye to these atrocities.  At least when they are not actively participating in them.”

 

Anna looked up at her.  Neema’s voice was level, but Anna could see rage and despair warring on her face.

 

“You asked why I came back, Princess Anna.”  Neema gestured around the chaotic medical tent.  “Now you know.”  She turned on her heel and strode away.

 

Anna watched her go, then turned her attention back to the boy.  Doctor Ekwesi had rejoined them, and removed the splint on the boy’s arm to set it.  She shook her head in response to Anna’s question about an anesthetic.  

 

“How do I ask him his name?”

 

“ _Jina lako ni nani_ ,” the doctor replied.  She gave Anna a slight smile.  “To tell him yours, you say ‘ _Jina langu ni_ ’...”

 

“ _Jina lako ni nani_?” Anna asked the boy.  

 

“Daniel,” he said.

 

“ _Jina langu ni_ Anna.”  She took Daniel’s good hand and held it tight as the doctor manipulated the broken bone.  His screams felt like a kick to her gut, and she bit her lip to keep from crying herself.

 

When the bone was set, she wiped his tears and told him how brave he was, though she knew he didn’t understand her.  He looked up at her with large dark eyes.  Suddenly all she could see was the teenage soldier from the jungle, the one she’d killed, staring up at her with pleading eyes as his last breath rattled out of him.  

 

The sounds and the smells and the very air of the medical tent seemed to abruptly close in on her.  Freeing her hand from Daniel’s, Anna fled, stumbling outside as her vision tunneled.  Somehow she made it to the steps of Doc’s clinic, where she sat down heavily and dropped her head between her knees.

 

_What have I gotten myself into?_

 

 


	9. The Americans Want What? pt 8 or She's Got a Way

“Zuri, are you the official tour guide here?” Anna asked as the little girl led her up to the front porch of Doc’s clinic. 

“No,” Zuri said with a smile.  “That’s a silly question!”

“Well, you always seem to know where everyone is, so I thought maybe it was your job.”

Zuri looked at the ground and shuffled her feet.  “Mama says that I’m nosy.”

“Hey.”  Anna bent down to look her in the face.  “You’re not nosy.  You’re… _observant_.”  She winked and booped Zuri on the nose, receiving a giggle in return.

“You look pretty in those clothes,” Zuri said, patting at Anna’s skirt.  It was the one that Zuri had brought to her the night before, the one she had initially refused to wear.

Anna glanced down at the yellow blouse and the long, vividly-patterned skirt.  “Well, I thought maybe it was time for me to wear them.  It’s hot here, and they’re a lot lighter than my uniform.”    _And they’re not covered with blood._   “Now I look like all the other ladies here, right?”

“Well…” Zuri tugged at a strand of coppery hair that had escaped from Anna’s messy bun, “…not really.”  She let out a long peal of laughter.

Anna couldn’t help but laugh as well.  She’d found the little girl waiting outside her door when she woke up this morning.  With her bright orange dress and ever-present smile, Zuri was almost a literal ray of sunshine, one that Anna had sorely needed.  What little sleep she’d gotten had been restless and troubled, filled with images of the chaotic medical tent.

She booped Zuri’s nose again, then straightened up and asked, “You’re sure Neema is here?”

“Yes, she was there all night,” Zuri answered.  “Do you want me to get you some breakfast?”

“I’m not really hungry, sweetie, but thank you.”

Zuri scampered off as Anna went into the clinic.  She found Lockhart with a clipboard, taking inventory of the cabinets.  He looked up when she came in, then did a double-take, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead.

“Morning, LT.  You look…different.”

Anna flushed.  She couldn’t help but notice that he had on a fresh uniform, while hers was still hanging on a line back in her quarters, drying out from the frantic scrubbing she’d given it the night before.  “How did you get your uniform cleaned up so fast?”

“I left Maneima with more than one.”

Anna’s cheeks got even hotter.  She didn’t really need to be reminded of how badly she’d handled this whole assignment so far. 

“It’s not a bad different,” Lockhart said.  He went to a small fridge in the corner and pulled out a bottle of Coke, opening it with his multitool.  “Here.  You look like you could use this.”

Anna took it with a grateful smile and drank half of it in one pull.  The caffeine and sugar seemed to kick in immediately.  “Thanks,” she said with a sigh.

“Hard to get a good cup of coffee out here.”

“It’s too hot for coffee.  I can practically smell my skin cooking.”

“That reminds me…”  Lockhart reached into one of the cabinets and pulled out a couple of small green tubes, which he tossed to her, “…you’ll probably need these.”

Anna glanced at the labels.  _Insect Repellent, DEET,_ one of them read.  The other _was Lotion, Sunscreen, SPF30+_.  “Oh my God, yes.  Burning aside, my freckles would slowly consume my entire body, like a giant creeping pigment monster.”  She started spreading the sunscreen onto her face and arms.  “I’m looking for Neema.  Zuri said she was here?”

Lockhart jerked his thumb toward a closed door.  “Back there.  She’s asleep.”

“She slept in the exam room?”

“She wanted to stay close to the med tent.” He went back to his inventory.  “And you’re sleeping in her quarters.”

“Oh.”  Anna pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

Lockhart glanced over at her.  “Hey, no worries, LT, she has air-conditioning back there.  Besides, it’s customary, part of being a good hostess, especially for a visitor of your standing.  And you didn’t exactly come here voluntarily.”

“Yeah, about that…we need to talk, Sergeant Lockhart.”

He met her eyes for a moment, then said, “Yes, ma’am.”  He shot a quick look at the exam room door.  “But I think it would be better if we went somewhere else.”

“Fine.  We can go for a walk.  I want to stop by the med tent anyway.”  At his questioning look, she said, “I want to visit Daniel and his mother.”

“Daniel?”

“The kid with the broken arm.”

He nodded, then closed and locked the cabinets and tossed the clipboard on Doc’s desk.  They left the clinic, walking around behind it to the med tent.  Anna paused at the door, biting her lip.  She wasn’t entirely sure how she would react to going inside.

_Well, I’m not gonna find out standing here._

They ducked inside.  There were still people bustling about, but the frenzied atmosphere from the previous night was gone.  Anna’s nose twitched at the antiseptic smells that did not quite cover the hint of burned flesh.  Heads turned as she and Lockhart walked through the tent, followed by an undercurrent of murmurings.  Anna could almost feel the weight of all the eyes on her. 

They finally reached Daniel, who sat cross-legged on the cot next to his sleeping mother, his arm wrapped in a plastic aircast.  He smiled a little as he talked to her, Lockhart translating, but his eyes kept darting to his mother; he was clearly worried about her.  She shivered beneath a blanket, yet sweat stood out on her face.  Anna left Daniel with a squeeze of her hand and a promise to talk to the doctor about his mother. 

They found Doc a little further down the line of cots, and he assured her that he would take a look at Daniel’s mom as soon as he got a chance.  Several people reached out to her as they made their way further through the tent, and Anna stopped to speak to each one, Lockhart feeding her the correct words to offer in encouragement.  Finally they slipped out the back of the tent, and Anna let out a long breath.

“You’re good at that, you know,” Lockhart said as they headed down a path that curved away through the trees.

“At what?”

“Talking to people.  You don’t even speak the language, yet you made everyone you talked to feel like they were the only person in the room.”

“Oh,” Anna said with a little laugh.  “Yeah, I guess.  I like people, and I’ve had a lot of practice.  I’m the spare, so I spend a lot of time doing things like that.”

“The ‘spare’?” Lockhart parroted.

“Yeah, you know, the ‘heir and the spare.’  Elsa was the heir, and I’m the spare.”  She looked up at him to find him side-eyeing her.  “What?”

He shook his head.  “I profess total ignorance when it comes to the workings of royalty.  But you and Neema both have that gift with people.”

“She reminds me of Elsa,” Anna admitted.  “It’s like when she’s there, everyone else is orbiting around her.  Kind of like she’s the sun.  But cooler – wait, never mind.  I mean, you might not be talking to her, or about her, or even _thinking_ about her, but you always just…kind of know where she is.  Like you’re always just… _aware_ of her.” Lockhart cocked an eyebrow at her.  “I know, I’m not making any sense.”

Lockhart chuckled.  “No, I understand what you’re saying.” 

“Well, that might be a first.”  She touched his arm to stop him as she looked up at him.  “Look, Sergeant Lockhart, you know I owe you, right?  You’ve saved my ass more than once.  But you’ve also been evading my questions and kind of jerking me around.”

His lips tightened into a hard line.  “Ma’am?”

Anna suppressed a sigh. She took a different tack.  “Come on, I _know_ that you have been here before.  You’re comfortable here, you know your way around, you speak the language.  Zuri says that you used to stay here.”  He still didn’t say anything, and she softened her voice.  “You obviously care about these people.” 

She thought she saw something in his face, and took a wild stab.  “And about Neema.”  He flinched a little, and she pressed harder.  “What I saw last night…no one has the right to attack innocent people like that.  I want to help, Sergeant Lockhart, I really do.  But I have to have some answers.”

Lockhart just crossed his arms over his chest and studied her.  Anna wanted to scream.  Her headache, which had finally settled into a mild thrum that she could almost ignore, threatened to flare back up right along with her temper. 

She managed to keep a lid on it.  “You know, I thought you were different from the other Americans in the delegation.  They couldn’t decide whether to fall all over themselves because of my title, or try to ignore me because I’m just a second lieutenant who can’t find her ass with both hands.  But you treated me like a professional, like a fellow soldier, and - ”

“Revel told me that’s how you would want to be treated.”

Anna stared at him, gobsmacked.  “Wait, what?” 

Lockhart grinned.  “He also said you had a penchant for ditching your bodyguards.  Something about a jet-ski and a private island and a missing swimsuit top?”

Anna’s jaw dropped.  The Central African sun had nothing on the heat radiating from her face and neck.  “I’m gonna fucking _kill_ him…” she mumbled.

Lockhart laughed.  “Anyway, I suspect that escapade pales in comparison to this.”  He made an expansive gesture at the surrounding jungle.

_No kidding_.  “How do you know Revel?”

“Oh, we go way back.  Did sniper training together in Germany, and kept in touch. He asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“How did he know you were going to be on the delegation?”

“I’m not part of the delegation, LT.  That’s why Combs doesn’t like me.  I don’t work for him.”

“Then why - ?”

“I came here as a favor to Revel, to look after _you_.”  He looked her up and down with another laugh.  “Good thing I did.  So far, you are exactly as advertised.”

Anna scowled.  Before she could fire back a suitable retort, several men came up the trail, lugging boxes and bundles on their backs.   She stepped back to let them pass.

“Looks like a supply boat is here,” Lockhart said.  “Want to check it out?”

“Sure.”

They started down the path again.  They had to move aside several times to let people pass, and finally emerged into a clearing on the bank of a wide river.  A single rickety pier jutted into the river, a rusty barge alongside it.  Half a dozen long, narrow dugouts drifted directly up to the bank, loaded with produce and other goods.  A human chain unloaded the barge, passing the goods up the pier to the waiting bearers. The supplies were from sympathizers in Kivu, Lockhart explained, smuggled down the river that served as the border between the two countries.

“Weapons too?” Anna asked, eyeing some of the crates coming off the barge.

“Yes, small arms, mostly AKs.  Some crew-served stuff.”

Anna wondered fleetingly if the ‘crew-served stuff’ was capable of damaging a cargo plane.  Like one flying low and slow enough to drop paratroopers.

Or had the MCA government really attempted to assassinate her?

She pushed those thoughts aside.  “So the Americans are here, helping Neema’s rebels, but aren’t committed enough to supply the weapons they need to actually win?” 

Lockhart gave a helpless shrug.  “I can’t speak to the motives of politicians, LT.  I really am just a grunt.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I thought you’d like to see the logistics.”

Anna rolled her eyes.  “Don’t be obtuse.  I meant, why did you bring me _here_?  To the camp?”

“I didn’t - ”

“Come on, Lockhart, don’t give me that.  Jefferson may have been the one Neema sent, but he wouldn’t have brought me here if you hadn’t allowed it.”

Lockhart let out a long exhale.  “You have no idea what these people are up against.  What you saw last night…it’s commonplace.  It was happening when I was here before, and it’s still going on.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“You said you wanted to see what was really going on.  Well, this is it.  _This_ is what is really going on.”

He continued, “Those conferences you were in…I’ve never been to anything like that.  Listening to bigwigs negotiate over money and troops and resources with no thought to how it affects anything other than their own pockets or prestige or some vague game of geopolitical chess.”  He met her eyes.  “You said it yourself.  No one has the right to attack innocent people.  Especially not their own government.  They have no one to speak on their behalf.   That’s why I brought you here.  These people deserve a place at the negotiating table, Your Highness.”

Anna smothered a smile at his earnest expression.  The six-foot-six American Green Beret, a man who could probably chew steel and spit tacks, had a heart as squishy as a marshmallow.  _Who knew?_

“One more question,” she said.  “Did you tell Neema I was going to be on that plane?”

“What?  No!” He fixed her with an affronted glare.  “I didn’t tell anyone, LT, I didn’t have time with trying to chase you down and all.  I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought it wasn’t safe.  I promised Revel I’d make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”  He shook his head.  “I figured ‘how hard could it be?  How much trouble could one princess get in?’  Man, that motherfu - that _asshole_ owes me.”

Anna burst out laughing.  “If it helps, you’re not the first person to feel that way.  I seem to have that effect.  All right, Sergeant Lockhart.  Let’s go find Neema and I’ll see what I can do.”

 

\---------

 

Neema lay on the exam room table, staring up at the ceiling.  _I should get up.  I have work to do._ She needed to check the supply run from Kivu.  Look in on that Muscovian that Jefferson dragged in.  Visit her people in the med tent _._   But the room’s cool comfort, along with the rattle of the air conditioner and the subtle vibration of the generator outside, conspired to keep her right where she was.  Sleep beckoned her back into its arms, and she wanted badly to give into its call.

She was tired, so tired. 

How had her father held up under it all?

_I miss you, Baba.  I need your guidance_.

It had been just over two years since she’d come back home.  Left her comfortable job in New York to come home and take over a resistance movement that had begun with her father’s demonstrations against Imanovajov and Mwenye’s kleptocracy and escalated to armed rebellion. 

Neema hadn’t intended to become a rebel leader.  She had come home after her father’s death, reportedly at the hands of armed robbers, planning to do little more than settle his affairs and return to New York.  She had no desire to stay in her homeland.  Instead, she found herself thrust into the middle of the Central African Freedom Movement.  For the people in the CAFM, it was only fitting that the daughter of Komen Sefu, Member of Parliament turned anti-Muscovian agitator turned martyr, would step into his shoes and take up leadership of the cause.

She’d pushed back at first; after all, she was just an economist, not a politician or some sort of dissident!  But it hadn’t taken long to discover that Komen Sefu’s killers were not thieves, but agents of the Information and Security Directorate – Mwenye’s secret police.  That information, coupled with a brutal government crackdown on protesters, swept away her reluctance.  Neema took up her father’s mantle.  After several attempts were made on her life, she fled into the jungle.  The protest movement became a civil war.

Neema pushed herself off the exam table with a groan.  _I’m only thirty!  Why do I feel so old?_   She contemplated returning to her personal quarters for a shower, but settled for splashing some water from the field sink onto her face.  She had too much to do right now.  The shower could wait.

Besides, she wasn’t sure she was quite ready to deal with her guest yet.

She wrapped her scarf around her hair and left the clinic.  The late morning heat enveloped her like a sticky blanket, and she wondered idly if she could convince Captain Jefferson to bring in some more generators.  They sorely needed more electricity for, well, everything, but refrigeration and AC were at the top of her list at the moment. 

Or better yet, perhaps she could ask Edward Lockhart.  Captain Jefferson was competent and well-meaning, but seemed to lack some of Edward’s resourcefulness.  The big soldier had been on the first team of Americans that showed up offering help, and it seemed that she only needed to wonder if she might need something, and he would make it appear.

Edward’s appearance with the Crown Princess of Arendelle seemed serendipitous.  Neema had known about the conferences in the capital, of course, known that Princess Anna was in attendance.  She had a number of allies in the government, including a cousin on General Jelani’s staff.  The wayward princess had practically fallen into her lap.  Edward’s presence was an unexpected bonus.

But he wouldn’t be able to get her everything she needed this time.  He’d gotten her the princess, but she needed the ear of Queen Elsa.  To get that, she needed the cooperation of Princess Anna.

_That may be easier said than done_ , she thought as she set off away from the clinic.  The princess projected none of the cool composure that Neema associated with Queen Elsa.  On the contrary, the younger woman seemed wildly unpredictable, flippant one minute and serious the next.  She had gotten under Neema’s skin with astonishing ease, probing deftly at her worst insecurities.  She had killed two of Neema’s fighters in the jungle, yet showed no hesitation in helping care for the injured last night.

What did she really know about the Arendellan princess?  Nothing beyond a few tabloid stories.  Neema could only hope that Edward’s judgment was sound, and that Princess Anna shared her sister’s sense of justice.

Angry shouting up ahead drew her attention.  Neema hurried down the trail and found a small crowd gathered near one of the squad tents.  She stifled a curse as she realized that it was the tent where the Muscovian officer was being held.

She pushed her way through the crowd, then stopped short at the spectacle in front of her.  Princess Anna, dressed in the clothing that Neema had provided her and brandishing a machete, squared off against three CAFM soldiers armed with knives.  Behind her, the Muscovian officer lay shirtless on the ground, his hands bound behind his back.  His face was battered and swollen, and blood flowed from fresh cuts on his back and chest.

“What is going on here?” Neema thundered in Swahili.  The crowd shrank back, and now she could see another one of her soldiers.  This one was sprawled on his back, blood pouring from what appeared to be a broken nose.

The CAFM soldiers immediately backed off.  Princess Anna did not lower her guard.  She glowered at Neema.  “I thought you said you didn’t tolerate this type of thing!”

“I don’t.”  Looking around, she spotted one of her officers.  “Confine them,” she ordered in Swahili, pointing at the CAFM soldiers.  “And get that one’s nose looked after.  Send a doctor to treat the Muscovian.”

The officer unslung his weapon and barked orders.  Several other CAFM soldiers hauled their injured comrade to his feet and herded all of the offenders away.

Neema glared around at the rest of the onlookers.  “The show is over.  I am sure that all of you have work to do.”

The crowd dispersed.  Neema saw Edward standing off to one side, arms crossed over his massive chest.  “You did not see fit to intervene?” she snapped in Swahili.

“She looked like she was doing fine to me,” he replied in English, amusement coloring his voice.  “Any intervention would have been to protect your guys, not her.”

Neema let out an exasperated huff.  She turned to Princess Anna, who had dropped the machete and now knelt beside the Muscovian officer.  The princess scowled when Neema squatted down beside her.

“I have sent for a doctor,” Neema said in English.  “My apologies, Captain Vasilek.  I can assure you that I do not stand for such behavior.  Those involved will be severely punished.”

Vasilek gazed stonily at her through one eye as Princess Anna freed his hands and helped him sit up.  His other eye had swollen shut.  Finally he gave her a curt nod.

“What will happen to those men?” Princess Anna asked.

“I will confer with their officer before making a final decision, but most likely they will be confined on short rations, and will forfeit several months’ pay.  And they will be publically caned.”  Shock flashed across the princess’ face.  “I told you I deal harshly with these things.  Those soldiers in the jungle, the ones that tried to mutilate the captain?  If you had not killed them, I would have had them executed.”

Princess Anna opened and closed her mouth several times before finding her voice.  “I see.”

“You did them a favor.  Their families can be told that they died in battle, as warriors, rather than being executed like common criminals.  And trust me, the distinction is important.”

The princess looked at her uncertainly, and Neema could almost see the gears turning in her head. 

Just then, Doctor Ekwensi appeared with her medical bag, puffing a bit in her haste.  She clucked in disapproval as she did a hasty exam of Vasilek, then said, “Help me get him inside.”

Edward came over and helped the doctor get Vasilek into the tent.  Princess Anna stood up, keeping her eyes on Neema, and Neema sensed that she was coming to some sort of decision.  When Edward came back outside, he looked back and forth between the two women.

“LT?”

The princess glanced up at him before giving a small nod.  “I’ve decided to help you, Ms. Sefu.  Or at least hear you out.”

Neema kept her expression neutral, but inwardly breathed a long sigh of relief.  “Thank you.  And please, call me Neema.”

“I’m not promising anything, Neema.  I know that you want me to get my sister involved, but I’m not even broaching the subject with her until I have a better grasp of the situation here.”

“I understand,” Neema replied.

“Okay, well, first things first,” Princess Anna said.  “I assume you have comms out here?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Okay, good.  I need to let my sister know I’m alive before she sets off an eternal winter.”

 

********

 

“Yes, say it exactly like that,” Neema said into the phone.  “And you are clear on the instructions?”

“…Good, good.”

“…I cannot thank you enough, Nyah.  This is of vital importance to us.” 

“…Yes, I will.  _Kwaheri_.”  Neema ended the call and set the satphone handset on the table.  “I knew Nyah would help us.”

“Who is this person again?” Lockhart asked before taking a pull at his Coke.  The three of them were back in the hut where they had eaten dinner the previous evening, sitting on the cushions around the low table, each of them with a cold bottle of soda.

“We went to university together.  She works at the CARE office in Arendelle,” Neema replied.

Anna took a swallow of her own Coke.  “So in a couple of hours, my sister will know I’m alive and well, and I can stop worrying about her worrying about me, and avert another summertime blizzard in Arendelle.”

“’Another summertime blizzard’?” Lockhart parroted.

“It’s a long story, I promise I’ll tell you sometime.  It’s legendary.  Literally.”  Anna saw Neema eyeing her strangely.  “What?”

“I am curious,” Neema said, “as to why you wanted someone else to pass this message to your sister.  Would it have not been easier for you to call her directly?”

“Not for what we want to do.”

“I do not understand.”

“Well, my sister is something of a worrier.  I mean, she’s fantastic at it.  Worrying, that is.  Especially about me.  And when she worries, she gets upset, and then her powers act up and there’s ice everywhere and - ” she broke off at their puzzled expressions.  “Never mind.”

Neema and Lockhart looked at each other, then back at her.

“ _Anyway_ , I didn’t want to talk to her, because if I did that, she would order me to come straight home.  And she’s the Queen, and I’m obligated to obey her.  But if I don’t talk to her, she can’t give me a direct order, and I’m not actually disobeying her.”

Lockhart and Neema just stared at her for a moment.  Then Lockhart burst out laughing.

“LT, you are a shithouse lawyer of the highest order.”

“…Thanks?”

“Oh, that’s a compliment, trust me,” he said.

Anna wasn’t so sure.  She shook her head and turned to Neema.  “So, you want to get me up to speed on what’s happening in your country?  I’ve had plenty of briefings and read through lots of material, but all of that has been filtered through diplomats and foreign-policy people.  I need you to tell me.”

A small smile played across Neema’s lips.  “I have a better idea.  Why don’t I show you?”

 

 

******

 

Elsa shifted in her chair and crossed her legs as she tapped notes into her tablet.  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ulrick Westergard’s gaze travel up her legs to where her skirt had hitched up a few inches above her knees.  She suppressed a sigh and contemplated blasting his man parts with ice.

Instead she shifted again, giving her skirt an unobtrusive tug.  Westergard gave her a leering grin, and Elsa felt an almost overwhelming need to bathe.  _He knows exactly what he’s doing.  Randy old bastard._

At seventy years old, Ulrick Westergard still projected a florid vitality, with a head full of thick silver hair and the polished smile of a career politician.  His appetites were legendary.  Not surprising, given that he had fathered thirteen sons with four different wives.  Rumor had it that he was preparing to trade in his current wife (Number Five or Six, Elsa didn’t keep track) for a newer model, the newer model being somewhere around Anna’s age.

At least he’d never made advances at her.  _I can only imagine the international uproar if the President of the Southern Isles became an ice sculpture for the Royal Gardens._   Though judging by the way he was eyeing her legs again, only the presence of Revel, who stood just inside her office door, was keeping his hands from wandering.

Elsa was beginning to regret not only using the comfortable chairs by the window instead sitting at the conference table, but also not breaking her own long-standing rule against wearing pantsuits to work.

She looked up at Westergard and forced a smile.  “Well, Mr. President, I think with most of the major topics agreed upon, we can turn them over to our trade staffs to hammer out the details.”

“Yes, I believe they’ll have plenty to work on.”  Westergard leaned back in his chair.  “And now, my dear, with business concluded…have you given any more thought to my other proposal?”

Elsa closed her fists to hide the ice forming around her fingertips.  “No, Mr. President, I have not.  I am in no hurry to get married.  My obligations to Arendelle and my people are my top priorities.  I am married to my duties, in a manner of speaking.”

_And God knows I don’t have the time or energy to deal with a man.  Especially not a Westergard man.  I’d break my neck trying to watch my back._

Westergard favored her with one of his politician smiles.  “Ah, but isn’t the continuation of your line one of your most important duties?” he asked, seemingly oblivious to the room’s sudden chill.  “My Hans is a fine boy.  Strong and handsome.  Bright, too.  He’s more than capable of helping you shoulder the burden of the throne.”

_No doubt while scheming on how to best take it from me completely_. 

“I’m sure we could come to an arrangement that… _satisfies_ …all parties.”  Another of his leering grins.

Elsa’s skin crawled.  She clenched her jaw so hard that she was sure Westergard could hear her teeth grinding.  She barely managed to keep her voice level.  “President Westergard, this is not the nineteenth century.  Marriage, even for royals, is not a business arrangement.  I am only twenty-five; I’m hardly withering on the vine.  And I _do_ have an heir.”

Westergard’s grin became shark-like.  “Ah yes, the lovely Princess Anna.  I haven’t heard much about her recently.  Is she behaving herself, or has she gotten better at eluding the paparazzi?”

Elsa’s magic stirred at his derisive tone.  _Is he purposely trying to provoke me?_   Anna wasn’t exactly a misbehaving royal, but she was young and she’d had her share of indiscretions, some captured on social media and dutifully chronicled by the tabloid press.  Like the one in Florida a few years ago, with that American pop singer who was more famous for his womanizing than his music.

Elsa folded her hands in her lap and deliberately lowered the temperature until Westergard’s breath fogged in front of his face. He got the message – his grin disappeared and she was pleased to see a hint of fear in his eyes.  “Mr. Westergard, this is an official state visit, the purpose of which is to strengthen our commercial ties to the benefit of both of our countries.  Neither my sister nor I are commodities for discussion.  I would appreciate it if you kept that in mind for the duration of your stay.”

She rose, signaling the end of their meeting.  Westergard scrambled to his feet as well.  “Of course, Your Majesty,” he murmured.

“Until dinner, then.”

“I look forward to it, Your Majesty.”  His smile returned as he took her hand and bowed over it, placing a wet kiss on her knuckles.  It took all of her control not to freeze his face.

Revel opened the office door, and Kai, Elsa’s Royal Chamberlain, appeared to escort Westergard to his guest suite.  As soon as the office door closed again, Elsa went to her desk and flopped into the chair.  Ice spread up the window behind her.

“Are you all right?” Revel asked.

“That slimy bastard,” Elsa hissed.  “How _dare_ he talk about Anna that way.”  She covered her eyes with one hand.  “I’m so worried about her, Revel, she’s been missing for almost a week!  Has there been any further word?”

“No.  Not through official channels, or through my more… _informal_ ones.”  She felt his hand on her shoulder.  “Anna’s tough and resourceful, Elsa.  We need to stay positive.”

Positive?  Anna was quick on her feet, Elsa had to admit that, but for her to be out in the middle of –

The buzz of the phone on her desk pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts.  With a groan, Elsa reached for the intercom button to tell Aggie that she wasn’t taking any calls.

Then she saw which light was blinking.  The line that bypassed the Castle call management system and Aggie’s phone to ring directly at her desk.  Only two people besides her knew how to access that line, and one of them was standing next to her.  That left only…

She snatched up the handset.  “Anna?  Anna, is that you??”

“Y-Your Majesty?” A nervous female voice.  Not Anna’s.

“This is Queen Elsa.  Who is this?  How did you reach this number?”  Revel reached across her and put the caller on speaker.

“Your Majesty, my name is Nyah.  I work for CARE, here in Arendelle City.  I was given instructions on how to reach you, and was asked to pass you a message.”

“What message?” 

“’The sky’s awake, so I’m awake.’”

_So we have to play_.  Elsa clapped her hand over her mouth.  _Anna_ …

“Is…is that all?” she asked.  She felt Revel’s reassuring hand on her back.

“The last part of the message is ‘Joan is hanging in there.’  The person who asked me to pass the message said that you would know what all that means.”

“Yes.  Yes, I do,” Elsa said.  She swallowed hard.  “Is…is there anything else?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you for calling, Nyah.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”  The line went dead.

Elsa stood up.  “I’m going to pack.  Call Colonel Karlsen and tell him to get my plane ready for a flight to Muscovian Central Africa.  I want the helicopter here in thirty minutes.”  She headed for the door.

Revel caught her arm.  “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?  You heard the message.  Anna’s alive.  I’m going to get her.”  She tried to tug her arm free, but he held her tight.  “Let go, Revel.”

“Elsa, wait.  Think about this for a second.  Yes, we know Anna’s alive – I recognized her ‘no duress’ code.  I’m guessing the whole ‘the sky’s awake’ thing was a personal message for you – something only you would know?”

Elsa nodded.

“Anna has to have access to some sort of communications, because she is the only one who knows how to bypass the call manager.  She had to give those instructions.”

“So?”  Elsa tried to shake her arm free, but Revel tightened his hold, ignoring her glare.

“So why didn’t she call herself?  Why send that message?”

Elsa took a deep breath and thought for a moment.  “Because she wanted me to know she was okay, but she didn’t want actually talk to me?”  Then another thought occurred to her and she ground her teeth in frustration.  “That… _brat_!  I know exactly what she’s doing!  She knows I would make her come home!  If she doesn’t talk to me, I can’t actually order her to do that!  Urrrrgh!”

Revel laughed.  “Well, yes, that’s probably part of it.”

Elsa rubbed the bridge of her nose as she sat back down at her desk.  “What’s the other part?”

“Well, she also could have contacted our embassy down there – or even Marshmallow – to let everyone know she was okay.  But she didn’t.  I think that she doesn’t want anyone to know where she is, at least for now.  But she also knew how worried you would be.”

“That’s all the more reason for me to go down there and get her!”

“You may undermine whatever she’s trying to do, Elsa.”

Elsa started to protest.  Anna was just being Anna, acting without thinking.  God knows what she’d gotten herself into.  Elsa needed to get down there and –

_You have to stay out of it.  You have to let me do this.  I have to serve in my own way._

Elsa tried to swallow around the lump in her throat as Anna’s words echoed in her head.  What kind of message would it send to her sister if she interfered now?  _You would be telling her that you have no confidence in her, that you don’t think she’s capable._

As hard as it was, she was going to have to give Anna a chance to finish whatever it was she was doing.  Otherwise, Anna might never forgive her.

 

 


	10. The Americans Want What? pt 9 or The Price of Pacifism?

Anna clung to the roll bar as the old Land Rover rumbled down the rutted dirt road.  The ride was excruciatingly bumpy.  She winced when the vehicle bounced and she bit her tongue.  Again.  She rinsed her mouth from her canteen and spit yet another reddish stream over the side of the Rover.

It occurred to her that she hadn’t seen a paved road since she snuck away from Maneima.

Anna shifted from sitting on the cracked leather seat to squatting on it.  Her legs seemed to be better shock absorbers than her ass, which had mostly gone numb from the abuse. They had been in the Rover since before dawn, and now the midafternoon sun beat down on them mercilessly.  She swept her hair up under her floppy-brimmed hat and rubbed sunscreen onto her face and neck again, though she doubted it would do much to halt the inexorable march of her freckles.

“Keep them down,” Lockhart said when she started to roll up her sleeves.  Like him, she wore a loose-fitting shirt and khaki pants that Neema had scrounged up for them somewhere.  “Believe or not, it’s actually cooler that way – if the sun cooks your skin, you’re only going to feel hotter.”

Anna gave a him a skeptical look, but left her sleeves down.  Besides, they were almost to their destination, a village called Bizi, which was near the edge of a large gold mine.  One of the most lucrative gold mines in central Africa, according to the man driving the Rover, who gave his name only as Martin.  He was a former MCA government mine inspector, who had lost his job after refusing to falsify safety certifications for the mines in his jurisdiction. 

She suspected Bizi would be just like the other half-dozen or so villages they had visited over the last few days – a collection of thatched-roof huts straddling a wide place in a bumpy road, surrounded by leafy banana trees, with nothing but verdant wilderness between them.  Control of the area seemed to be pretty evenly split between the government and the CAFM, although there were no discernable lines.  Sometimes they would find MCA soldiers lounging in what passed for a village square, only to run across one of Neema’s units a couple of miles away, the two groups completely unaware of each other.

Anna was jerked from her thoughts when a man popped out of the bush and blocked the road.  Not a man, she realized with a start, but a kid.  No more than fifteen or sixteen, clutching an AK-47 in one hand and a bundle of green buds in the other.  The Land Rover skidded to a stop a few yards in front of the kid and within seconds they were surrounded by a dozen teenage boys, a heavily armed posse in ratty camouflage and filthy T-shirts materializing from the jungle.

The first boy sauntered over to the side of the Rover.  A pungent odor wafted over her, and she recognized the greenery he carried.  Judging from the smell and his big goofy grin, he’d already been indulging.

“ _Tsigara_ ,” he demanded, and the other boys took up a chant.  “ _Tsigara, tsigara!_ ” they yelled.

Neema and Martin dug into their backpacks and came out with several packs of cigarettes, which they pushed into the greedy hands that suddenly extended from every direction.  Martin added a fistful of crumpled bills.  Neema spoke sharply to the first boy, who responded by grinning and sticking his tongue out at her.  Apparently satisfied with the tribute, the little band melted back into the bush as quickly as they had appeared.

“What the heck was that?” Anna wondered as the Land Rover lurched forward again.

“That is Zlatist Mining’s idea of local security,” Martin said.

Anna frowned.  “I thought the mining companies had their own security forces.  And what about the MCA Army?”

“The MCA Army is corrupt and incompetent.  The soldiers steal from the mine and the village, so their officers accept bribes to keep them out in the bush hunting for us,” Neema explained.  “They use the boys to keep the villagers in line, and pay them with marijuana and weapons and a warped sense of manhood.  The mine security forces protect the mine itself.  And the compound where all of the Muscovians live.”

“The government troops we saw didn’t seem particularly interested in finding you,” Anna said, thinking back to the soldiers she’d seen lolling around the other villages.

Neema shrugged.  “Without their officers, they have little motivation to do so.  Why look for a fight when you can get drunk on home brew and accost the local women with no penalty?”  She turned to look at Anna fully.  “We are winning out here, Princess Anna.  It is only a matter of time.  We will either have control of this entire province, or…”

“Or…?” Anna prompted.

“Mwenye will send in mercenaries.”  Neema shot a glance at Lockhart.  “That is why he is so desperate for the Americans to help him.  If he has to use mercenaries – white mercenaries, to be clear – he risks international condemnation.  Even he cannot afford that.”

_Yeah, I can just imagine how well that would play in the UN.  Even Imanutjob couldn’t support him._

“But he _will_ do it,” Neema went on, “and I am afraid we will be on our way to becoming a failed state.  CAFM needs to be involved in these talks, Your Highness.  This is our country, our future, and we cannot leave it to the whims of a corrupt regime and a greedy foreign power.” 

Anna wondered how the Americans would react if the negotiations suddenly shifted from how to best support Mwenye to how best to get rid of him.  _Who cares?  They’re already playing both sides, and have been for a while._

Another half-hour and the jungle finally parted to reveal Bizi.  It was a bit larger than the other villages they’d visited, but had the same broken-down feel: scattered clumps of round huts, an open-air market where the stalls were made of sticks and shopkeepers hawked secondhand goods.  Just beyond the village, Anna could see the edge of the open-pit mine.  A sparkling, emerald-green mountain rose behind it. 

They sat down with the village elders, and Neema introduced Anna as a representative from _Écoles Sans Frontiéres_.  They had used the same cover story in all the villages they’d visited, with Neema and Anna speaking French to help further the ruse.  The elders’ eyes darted nervously as they spoke.  Despite the bounty of the mine, there was no sign of prosperity.  No electricity or running water.  They needed medicine for their clinic and books for the school.

The wealth from the Bizi mine, like that of every other resource in the country, flowed to President Mwenye and his cronies, and ultimately to Yuri Imanovajov.  Almost nothing stayed to benefit the village.  Anna fought back her rage and disgust at the sight of the barefoot kids, their bellies swollen from disease or malnutrition.

_How can President Mwenye allow this to happen to his own people??  Being a leader is duty and responsibility and honor, not a license to pillage!_

She thought back to Kohro, the MCA capital.  Gleaming skyscrapers, well-maintained paved roads, all the lights and glitter and vibrancy of a cosmopolitan city.  Yet Mwenye sat in his presidential palace, feasting on champagne and caviar while his country’s children curled up and starved.

She could only imagine Elsa’s reaction to all of this.  _Unseasonably cold weather centered around the Presidential Palace, probably.  Or maybe just centered around the President._

They thanked the elders and walked down the hill toward the mine, the afternoon sun slanting behind them.  Anna swallowed as they approached the guard post at the entrance.  Armed guards in olive drab uniforms – all Muscovian – patrolled the perimeter.  Beyond them, she could see workers swarming like ants over the different tiers of the pit. 

Two guards strode out to the gate as they approached, hands resting lightly on the submachine guns slung from their shoulders.  The first one said something in Muscovian and stretched out his hand.  Martin handed their papers to him.  He studied them closely.  His partner, a tall, well-built blond man, looked Anna up and down appreciatively.  He spoke to her, giving her what he probably thought was a charming smile. 

 _Oh, for fuck’s sake…he looks like a toothpaste model._  She smiled back, trying not to roll her eyes when he grinned and nudged the first man.  The first guard – probably a supervisor of some type, judging by his collar insignia – snapped at him, then questioned Martin in Muscovian.  Neema jumped into the conversation as well, pointing at Anna and Lockhart.  The supervisor rolled his eyes and she gave him a Gallic shrug.  He waved them down the road toward a temporary building.

“What did you tell them?” Anna asked.

“That you are _une gosse riche_ , here to help the ignorant natives,” Neema said.  “A ditzy dilettante who wants to see ‘the working environment’.” 

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“That way they don’t see you as a threat.”  Neema’s mouth twitched with her efforts to keep a straight face.

“Oh.  Great.  Now what?”

“They say we must talk to the local ‘minister of mines’ before we can proceed,” Martin said.

“Local ‘minister of mines’?” Anna repeated.

“A provincial government official who is accepting bribes from the Muscovians to ignore basic standards of decency.”

They opened the door to the temporary building, and Anna grimaced as the odors of stale food and human funk assaulted her.  They found the ‘minister’ sitting at a desk behind a veritable forest of empty beer bottles, sweating profusely despite the blasting cold from the air conditioner in the window.  He was an enormously obese Central African, wearing a cheap suit jacket that stretched taut over his thick rolls of fat. 

_How the hell does he fit through the door?_

“ _Hujambo, mzee_ ,” Martin greeted him. 

The man burped loudly and leaned back in his chair.  He sat Buddha-like with his hands folded across his vast belly, examining them through half-closed eyes.  “ _Unataka nini?_ ” he rumbled.

Martin handed over their papers.  The man glanced at them, then tossed them aside.  He stood abruptly, scattering the beer bottles.  Anna jumped back as one rolled off the desk and shattered at her feet.  She stared wide-eyed as the man leaned across and poked Martin’s chest with a thick finger.  “ _Hakuna akaguzi? Eh?_ ” 

Martin held his hands up in front of him in a placating gesture as he replied, but whatever he said didn’t seem to help. The ‘minister’ became increasingly agitated, slamming his hand on the table.  More beer bottles hit the floor.

Then a heavyset Muscovian in a white dress shirt stepped through the door, breathing like he’d just run a marathon.  He joined the conversation, which switched rapidly back and forth between Swahili and Muscovian.  Martin kept his voice calm, gesturing at Anna.  The Muscovian raised an eyebrow and barked a question at him.

“Who is this guy?” Anna whispered to Neema.  “What are they saying?”

“He is the mine manager,” Neema whispered back.  “They are angry that they received no warning of our visit.  They think we are foreign spies, or perhaps worse, journalists.” 

The Muscovian kept shooting puzzled looks at Anna, his thick brows pinching together into a single line.

“We need to leave.”  Anna flinched at Lockhart’s low voice in her ear.  “He recognizes you.”

“Well, maybe that’s better,” Anna said softly.  “If they know who I am, they might be more cooperative.  After all, I’m here at Imanovajov’s behest.” 

The mine manager’s head whipped around at that.  He stared first at Anna, then at Neema.

“No,” Lockhart hissed.  “I think he recognizes Neema, too.”

Neema evidently had come to the same conclusion.  Before Anna could protest, Neema was herding her toward the door, smiling and speaking to the men in a conciliatory voice.  The men grumbled and watched with suspicion as Martin retrieved their papers. 

“ _Asante, mzee_ ,” Martin said as they backed out the door.

They hurried back down the road toward the gate.  “What did you tell them?” Anna asked.

“I apologized for our poor manners in arriving unannounced, and that if it pleases them, we will return tomorrow,” Neema answered.

“And will we?  Come back tomorrow, I mean?”

“No.  Absolutely not.”  Lockhart’s tone brooked no argument.  “They’re suspicious.  We’re leaving before that so-called ‘minister’ has us arrested.”

Anna looked back to see the mine manager step out of the building.  He pressed his phone to his ear, never taking his eyes off of her.  Was he calling security?  Would they be arrested?  She held her breath as they approached the guard post, heart racing when the guard with the toothpaste-model smile stepped out of the shack.  Her hand dropped to find her pistol before she remembered that they had left their weapons hidden in the Land Rover.

Toothpaste Model spoke briefly to Martin.  Whatever Martin told him made him laugh.  Then he fell into step with Anna, smiling and talking.  Anna shook her head.  “ _Je ne comprende pas_ ,” she said.  He cocked his head and switched to Swahili.  She shrugged helplessly.  “ _Je suis perdu_.”

He looked frustrated for a moment, then stepped in front of her, causing her to stumble a bit to avoid running into him.   “ _Qu’est-ce que -_ ?” she broke off when he took her hand and raised it to his lips.  Anna stared as he murmured softly and winked at her.

 _Yeah, whatever_ …  She forced a smile and withdrew her hand as politely as she could.

 He chuckled and gave her a wave as she walked past the gate.   Anna kept glancing behind her as they headed back toward the village.  Toothpaste Model watched her until they crested the hill, but neither he nor any of the other guards seemed inclined to follow.  _Thank God_.

“What was that all about?”  she asked.  The language barrier was getting to be a pain in the ass.  She wondered how fast she could learn Swahili.  _Then I could tell Toothpaste Model to fuck himself_.  _Though it might lose something in translation._

Despite the tension, Lockhart chuckled.  “Not too many white women out this way, LT.  Don Juan probably hasn’t had his ashes hauled since he got here.”

“Great,” Anna muttered.  “At least he’s not following us.”

“Yet,” Lockhart said.  “Never underestimate how far a man will travel if he thinks he might get laid.”

Neema rolled her eyes.  “I am sure he has availed himself of the services offered by some of the village women.  If he is a decent sort, he might have even paid them.”

“What did you say to him?” Anna asked Martin, trying to change the subject.  She’d already learned enough about how the villagers were treated to turn her stomach.  _Just one more outrage on the list_ …

“That the manager was too busy to show us around today, and that we will be back tomorrow,” Martin said.

“And they believed that?”

“Yes.  They think we are all ignorant savages.  Men like that fat minister do not help.”

They hustled back to the Land Rover and sped off down the bumpy road away from Bizi.  Anna decided that she had seen enough.  It was time to shine a light on what was really going on in Muscovian Central Africa.  Maybe she couldn’t solve their problems – _even Elsa couldn’t solve all these problems_ – but they could lend their support to Neema and CAFM, and give the Central Africans a chance to take control of their own destiny.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” Anna commented as she leafed through the journal on the table in front of her.  She was back in her uniform, sitting with Neema in what she thought of as the ‘dinner hut,’ having a long discussion about the previous few days, and the past and future of Central Africa.

“If CAFM is successful, we should have a plan,” Neema said.  “I do not want to end up like the dog who chases cars, but has no idea what to do if he catches one.”

Anna laughed as she scribbled down her own thoughts.  The habit of carrying paper and pen everywhere had been painfully imprinted on her at the Krigsskolen, and the pocket-sized notepad was the only thing she’d brought with her when she snuck away from the base at Maniema.  _So really I was only like ninety-nine percent unprepared._

A few sentences in Neema’s journal caught her eye.  “ _Weak parliaments tend to become merely players, if not outright tools, in the slide back to old authoritarian systems of personal rule_ ,” she read aloud, tapping her pencil against the page.  “That sounds familiar.”

“It should,” Neema said.  “It was written by Professor Rune Ingesen.”

“My advisor at Arendelle University.”  Anna cocked an eyebrow.  “I thought you said you weren’t a politician.”

Neema had the good grace to look embarrassed.  “I am not, truly.  But if we are going to be a stable democracy, there are worse countries to emulate than your own, are there not?”

Anna smiled uneasily.  In truth, Arendelle’s democracy was largely uncodified and dependent on the power of a thousand years’ worth of parliamentary tradition and the integrity of the monarch.  Neema’s people has no such traditions, as far as she could tell, at least not on a national scale.  They would need strong, codified institutions and leaders able to put the needs of the people ahead of their own.  Neema struck her as capable of that.  But what about the other CAFM leaders?

Would they act in their people’s interest, or would they eventually become another kleptocracy?  Or find out that after a revolution, the revolutionaries were often the first ones put up against a wall and shot?

Those thoughts were forgotten when they heard shouts from outside.  Then Lockhart stuck his head through the door and said, “We need to go, LT.”

“What?  But I thought – ”

“Now.”   He was gone before she could finish her question.

The distinctive crack of AK-47s firing reached their ears.  Anna jumped up and raced outside, Neema hot on her heels. 

 

 


	11. The Americans Want What? pt 10 or If It's a Fight You Want

Anna had barely cleared the door of the hut when a hand grabbed her arm, bringing her up short and causing Neema to crash into her from behind.  The sharp crack of small-arms fire echoed in the distance.  She stared as CAFM soldiers scrambled through the trees.   Jefferson and several other men hurried up to Neema, speaking to her in urgent voices.  Neema immediately started pointing and issuing orders.  All of the men, Jefferson included, nodded in acknowledgement, then turned and started giving orders of their own.

Anna watched as Neema hurried away, shouting and gesturing at the women that had started to gather.  “What’s going on?” she asked Lockhart.

He shoved an AK-47 into her hands.  “The camp’s under attack.  At least a battalion-sized force.”  He put one hand on her back and started propelling her toward the trees.  “They had to come from the outpost – that’s the only unit that size anywhere around here.”

“Where are we going?  Everyone else is going _that_ way!” Anna protested, waving in the direction that every other fighter in the camp was taking.

Lockhart didn’t stop, hustling her along the path faster.  “Martin is still here with his Land Rover.  He’ll get us out of here.”

“Wait, _what_?”  Anna shook off his hand and stopped in her tracks.  “We can’t leave them in the middle of a fight!”

Lockhart scowled and shook his head.  “This isn’t your fight, LT.  You’re a neutral,” he reminded her.

Anna scoffed.  “Then why did you give me a weapon?  We both know I stopped being a neutral when you dragged me out here.  Don’t tell me that wasn’t your intention.  So I’m not about to leave them now.”  She checked to make sure her AK was locked and loaded, then turned back toward the sounds of the fighting.

Large hands grabbed the back of her uniform.  “Yes, you are.”

Before she could quite figure out what happened, her feet left the ground.  The world spun for a second, then she found herself suspended just above the path, staring at Lockhart’s boots as he broke into a trot.  She struggled to breathe, then realized with furious indignation that he was carrying her by her belt.

_I’m not a fucking briefcase!_

“Put me down!” she wheezed.

“No.”  He picked up his pace.  Anna tried to put her feet down, but he just held her further off the ground.  She flailed furiously, and he grunted as her rifle whacked against his shins.  “Stop that.”

“I…can’t…fucking…breathe!”  Lockhart swung her upright and she landed on her feet.  Kind of.  He still had hold of her uniform shirt, her boots barely touching the ground as he hauled her down the path.  “Let me go!  I am not a little kid!”

“Then stop acting like one.”  He let go of her shirt but kept a hand on her back.  “I mean it, LT.  I’m taking you out of here even if I have to knock your ass out and carry you.” 

“What about Neema?  Zuri?  All those injured people?” she yelled.  “Am I just supposed to run away and leave them?”

“Yes,” he snapped.  She glared at him, but he didn’t back down.  “Neema and her commanders can handle this – they have contingency plans for these situations.”  His voice lost its edge.  “This isn’t the battle they need you for.  They don’t need Lieutenant Arendelle.  They need Princess Anna.  But not here.  You understand?”

_Fuck_.  She deflated a little.  “Yeah.  I understand.”

“Good.  Let’s go.”

They kept running.  The path skirted around one hill and dipped down into a saddle between two others, coming out of the trees behind a line of fighting positions built into the military crest of the lower rise.  Prepared positions, part of Anna’s brain noted as she and Lockhart jogged past them, with plenty of sandbags for front, flank, and overhead cover.  CAFM fighters already occupied most of the positions; she could see their heads and shoulders as they moved around inside, scanning the terrain in front of them.

She swallowed hard as she realized that the fighters in the foxholes were defending not just themselves, but their families as well.  They would lose everything if the camp was overrun.

They cut back into the forest, passing by several more positions.  Anna wondered why they weren’t manned.  _Because the attack’s on the other side of the camp, genius.  In the direction you’re running away from_.  She knew Lockhart was right, that she could help more in the diplomatic rooms than on the firing line, but it still chafed. 

_But who knows?_   She hefted her weapon across her chest as they picked up their pace _.  Maybe the fight will come to me_.

 

*****

 

Senior Lieutenant Peter Utkin of the Muscovian Army lay on his belly on the crest of a hill overlooking a rough dirt road.  The road, he had been told by his team leader, was the most likely route that the CAFM terrorists and their Continental enablers would use to try to escape the attack on their camp that just beginning. 

Lieutenant Utkin had been in Muscovian Central Africa for almost six months.  Six long, miserable months spent pulling what amounted to glorified guard duty.  Hardly the type of duty that required soldiers with his skills.  They didn’t even wear their real uniforms, dressing instead in the bland khakis of mercenaries and rent-a-cops around the world.    They still carried their Muscovian weapons, but they still looked like rent-a-cops.  Exceptionally well-armed rent-a-cops, but rent-a-cops just the same.

It was insulting.  Why were they hiding who they really were?  Muscovian Central Africa was just that – _Muscovian_.  They had every right to put down revolts in their own territories.  Who cared what the Americans and Continentals said?  It wasn’t like the ignorant _divatsi_ were capable of governing themselves.  If they were, there wouldn’t be any need for Utkin and his comrades to even be there.  The swooning diplomatic pansies in the Foreign Ministry held too much influence.

Utkin recognized that some of his foul mood had to do with his severe case of lackanookie.  He hadn’t been with a woman since he left Muscovia.  There were no white women around other than the wives of the mine management and engineers, and they were off-limits.  One did not diddle with the natives unless one was suicidal, from a disease standpoint.  There were Muscovian women in the bigger cities, but most were not interested in an underpaid soldier who was masquerading as a security guard.

He had thought his dry spell might come to an end when the good-looking redhead showed up at the mine the day yesterday.  She had smiled and talked to him, and he thought they had a connection, even if they didn’t speak each other’s languages.  But he and the rest of his mates had been put on lockdown for this mission before he could even go to the village to look for her.  Luckily for him, her translator had said they would be returning to the mine, so she would be in the area for at least a few days.  There would be time to find her after they finished dealing with the rebellious _divatsi_.

A slap at his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts about the redhead.  His captain pointed at the road, where Utkin could see the rooster-tailed dust cloud stirred by a moving vehicle.  Rising to his knees, Utkin looked through the eyepieces of the rangefinder mounted on the tripod next to him.  He adjusted the focus until he honed in on the old Land Rover bumping down the road.  It bounced to a stop.  The driver got out and looked around, then sat on the hood as though waiting for someone.

Utkin altered the zoom, focusing on the man sitting on the hood.  He did a double-take.  “ _Do pizdy_ …” he swore.

“What is it?” his captain asked.

“That man there, sitting on the vehicle.  He was at the mine yesterday.”  _With my redhead.  Does she know her guide is a terrorist?_

The captain peered through his binoculars.  “Huh.  And now he is here.  What do you think?”

“Reconning the mine?”

The captain grunted in agreement.  He picked up the handset of the radio that sat on the ground between them and called in a spot report.  “They’re ready,” he said.  “He makes a good reference point, yes?”

Utkin grinned.  He sighted the rangefinder on the Land Rover, noting the grid coordinates.  Then he took the radio handset from the captain and keyed it.

“Korsan-Six, this is Homryk-One.  Fire mission.”

 

 

*****

 

Anna and Lockhart emerged from the trees at the edge of an embankment that flanked a dirt road.  Martin’s Land Rover sat parked about a hundred yards down the road.  Martin sat on the hood, waiting.  They scrambled down the bank to the road.   Just as they landed at the roadside, several distinctive _crumps_ sounded in the distance. 

Anna’s breath left in her a _whoosh_ as Lockhart knocked her down and landed on her.  Her rifle, trapped between her body and the ground, took the brunt of her fall.  A sharp pain lanced through her side.  The Land Rover – and Martin – disappeared in a cloud of dust and a thunderous explosion. 

_Oh, shit!_   Anna covered her head with her arms as dirt clods rained on them.

Then Lockhart’s weight was gone.  Anna struggled to her feet, clutching her side and sucking for air. 

 “Shit, they have mortars,” Lockhart said.  Anna’s ears rang from the blast, and his voice sounded far away.  “We need to move.” 

They ran like hell back up the bank and into the trees.  Anna held her AK-47 with one hand, the other one pressed against her side.  Every breath came like a knife twisting in her side.  Cracked rib, maybe?  She ignored it as best she could and followed Lockhart, who had a handheld radio pressed to his ear.

“Buckeye Six, this Buckeye One-Three,” Lockhart kept yelling into the radio.  If he was trying to reach the other Americans, he didn’t seem to be getting much of a response.

 “Where are we going?” she gasped.  Why were they going uphill?  She didn’t remember going _down_ a hill when they came this way.  Or was it just her ribs making her think that?

His answer was lost in a long string of _crumps_ preceding the next mortar barrage. 

There seemed to be an awful lot of incoming.  _How many freakin’ mortars do they have?_   It was all Anna could do to keep running, fighting her instinctive urge to dive for cover as shells burst around them and shrapnel whistled past her ears.  At the rate they were firing, surely they would run out of ammo soon.

Lockhart whipped around a tree and collided with something.  He crashed heavily to the ground, upending Anna, who was hot on his heels.  She let out a little cry at the jolt to her ribs.  She sat on her knees, clutching her side as she watched Lockhart disentangle himself from a rebel soldier.  The two had an urgent exchange in Swahili, and the rebel soldier pointed back in the direction he’d come from.

“Shit!”  Lockhart dashed further up the hill and dropped to his knees next to a crumpled figure.  Anna forced herself up to join him, swallowing the bile in her throat at the sight of the shattered body, lying in a rapidly spreading pool of blood. 

The dead man’s face was peppered with blood and pressed into the ground, but she thought she recognized – “Is that Jefferson?” she gasped.

“Yeah,” Lockhart said, his face grim.  “We gotta get some support and find a way outta here.  Hopefully the comms on Bunker Hill are still up.”

He started up the hill again, his long legs eating up the distance.  Anna had to sprint to keep up, fighting back tears at the pain in her side.  _What the hell is Bunker Hill?_

They burst from the treeline and just above them, Anna saw three rocky pinnacles, each standing about six feet high.  The hundred feet or so between each pinnacle was built up with timber and sandbags to form… _Oh.  Bunker Hill_.

Anna followed Lockhart as he scrambled up the side of the bunker and over the sandbag wall.  Trying to steady her breathing, she looked around at the bunker complex.  The paths between the stone pinnacles were roofed over with timbers, with layers of sandbags on the top.  A wall of sandbags surrounded the entire structure.  Down the passageways, she could make out a number of sandbag-protected firing positions, already occupied by CAFM fighters. 

The center of Bunker Hill was set up as a command post.  There was a field desk with several tactical phones on it, and a communications set in a hardened container.  Another American Green Beret, a short stocky black man, sat at the desk.  He held a portable radio in one hand while he punched a keypad on the comms set with the other.  A tactical phone handset was jammed between his ear and shoulder.

“Buckeye Six, Buckeye Six, this is Buckeye One-Zero,” the man barked into the portable radio.

“Six is dead, Bo,” Lockhart said.  “Looked like he took a mortar hit.”

“Shit!”

“Everyone else check in?”

“Yeah, Chief and Gee are clearin’ the camp, everybody else is in the holes, ‘cept Witz, he was already up here.  He’s on the 240.”  He pointed down a passageway. 

As if on cue, the deafening clatter of machine-gun fire echoed through the bunker.  Anna swore and clapped her hands over her ears.  Lockhart dug into his pocket.  Anna watched as he shoved a pair of bright orange foam cylinders into his ears.  Bo, seeing her with her fingers in her ears, pulled a packet out of the field desk and tossed it to her.  She nodded her thanks and jammed the foam plugs into place.  The relief was immediate.  Her ears still sang, but at least now it didn’t feel like the machine gun was firing from inside her head.

“Looks like Chief’s in command now,” Lockhart said.  “Hope his radio’s working.”

The bunker rumbled from nearby mortar impacts, shaking dirt loose from overhead.

“What the fuck with them mortars, Bit?” Bo asked Lockhart.  “Them MCA fuckers ain’t never been able to put rounds out like that.”

“I don’t know, but we need air, like now.  Can you talk to the Nightstalkers?”

“Workin’ on it, man, the fuckers hit us right at COMSEC change.  Gotta load the new key.”  His fingers danced over the comms set keypad.

The machine gun opened up again.  Anna grabbed a pair of binoculars hanging on the bunker wall and hurried down the passage.  She ducked into the gun’s position, where she found a CAFM soldier manning the M240 machine gun while an American spotted over his shoulder.  The American – _Witz?_ –  shot her a quick glance when she leaned over the gunner’s other shoulder, but said nothing.

Anna peered down over the rolling slopes.  She could just make a few huts in the treeline below that marked the edge of the camp, and her chest tightened.  Where was Neema?  Zuri? 

A series of explosions sent clouds of billowing white smoke along the lower ridge, obscuring all but the very tops of the trees, and the sharp _ratatat_ of small-arms fire crackled up from below.  _Whoa_. Whoever was attacking, she realized with a gulp, they were coming _now_. 

_And then they’ll shift their fires to –_

The first mortar round landed on Bunker Hill before she could complete the thought.  The next one hit a split second later.  Anna rocked against the sandbag wall, stunned by the force of the detonation. Her vision blurred and her ears rang despite the earplugs.  Sand and rock fragments showered on her.

She shook her head to clear it.  Dust kicked up in front of her as the 240 fired again, spitting tracer rounds that disappeared into the smoke between the trees.  Anna raised her binoculars and scanned the ridge below.  Something man-shaped darted into her line of sight, and then she could make out a squad-sized unit rushing from cover. 

Not the MCA Army.  These attacking soldiers were all white.

_Mercenaries?  Or the Muscovians?_

Another blast hit as Anna left the machine position. Something stung her face and ear.  _Stone fragments?_   She staggered into the passageway, trying to get back to the command post.  The mortar barrage intensified, rounds falling with little pause, shockwaves reverberating even through the solid rock pinnacles.  A steady fog of sand rained from between the covering timbers, and Anna could only see a few feet in front of her.  She collided with one person after another, the passage suddenly like a tram station at rush hour.

She stumbled into the command post.  More explosions, and the small fluorescent lights hanging from the roof went dark.  The only light came from the small LED panels on the comms set.

“Fuck, they got the generator!” Bo swore. 

Some fumbling around, and then a portable lamp glowed on the field desk.  Lockhart lit another and hung it from the ceiling.

Something warm and wet ran down Anna’s temple.  Her hand moved to wipe it away, and her fingers came away red.  She just stared at them, lightheaded, almost overcome by the sudden need to empty her bladder.  She swayed on her feet, unsure if she would puke, pee herself, or simply pass out.

Then Lockhart had her by the shoulders and was guiding her into a chair next to the desk.  He took her face in his big hands and tipped her head to the side.  He examined her carefully, then barked something in Swahili.  A first aid kit appeared on the desk.

Mortar rounds continued to pound them, the tremors dropping a constant drizzle of sand that slid under her collar.  Anna closed her eyes, lost for a moment in surreal sensations.  The gritty sand on her sweat-soaked skin.  The low boom of explosions, punctuated by the occasional crack of small arms fire.  Bo’s anxious voice, calling over and over for something named Viper Base.  The pungent odors of fear and sweat, mixed with smoke and dirt and the sharp tang of gunpowder.

“Okay, LT,” Lockhart said finally. 

Anna opened her eyes and put her fingers to her face.  Bandage and tape covered her skin from her temple to the place where her jaw met her ear.  It stung a little when she probed at it.

_Will I have a scar there?_   It was a trivial thing, part of her mind understood, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it.  _Elsa will kill me_.

AS if reading her thoughts, Lockhart said, “I don’t think you’ll have a scar.  It’s superficial and mostly in your hairline.  Anything on your face or head will bleed a lot.”

Bo swore viciously and threw the comm set’s mic down in disgust.  “I think they hit the fuckin’ antenna!”

“Were you able to get through at all?” Lockhart asked.

Bo shook his head.  “I don’t know, man, I just don’t know.”

Lockhart handed Anna her AK-47.  “Well, LT,” he said, his mouth quirking slightly as he met her eyes, “looks like you’re gonna get that fight after all.”

 

*****

 


	12. The Americans Want What? pt 11 or The Battle of Bunker Hill

Elsa peered out the window, her stomach dropping a little as her Gulfstream jet made a banking turn.  All she could see below was an unending sea of green, broken only by the brown ribbon of river that snaked its way toward the horizon.  The thought that Anna was out there somewhere, in the middle of all the dangers hidden by those sparkling emerald treetops, only made her stomach roil more.

Her hands clutched the armrest of her seat.  Despite her best efforts at control, frost escaped from her fingertips and spread across the fine leather.  _Get a grip_ , she chastised herself.

She took a calming breath and dissipated the ice with a slight flick of her wrist, but not before Revel saw it.

“There’s a first time for everything, I guess” he said with a little grin.

“What?”

“I bet no pilot’s ever had to de-ice because of conditions _inside_ the airplane.”

“You’re hilarious.”  She flicked her wrist again.  He ducked the first snowball, but she dropped the next one right down the back of his shirt, smirking as he squirmed.  “Careful, or you may find that parts of _you_ will need de-icing.”

His eyes widened, and his hands moved automatically to cover his most sensitive region.  Elsa couldn’t help but giggle at his expression.  Her shoulders relaxed a bit, some of her tension easing away.  “Thank you, Revel.”

“All part of the service, my Queen,” he said with a rakish grin.

Elsa turned back to the window.  Now she could see the Kohro skyline in the distance, a glittering break in the jungle.  She frowned as the plane banked again, turning away from the city.  They didn’t seem to be descending at all.  _Are we circling?_

Before she could voice the question, Colonel Karlsen, her Royal Arendelle Air Force pilot, came into the main cabin.    He gave her a slight bow, his mouth set into a hard line.

“Your Majesty, Kohro Air Traffic Control has denied us permission to land.  They are claiming that they have no record that our diplomatic clearance applications were ever approved.  We’re currently in a holding pattern, but we have already started to plan for a diversion to Niari if that becomes necessary.”

“What?” Elsa just stared at him, then turned toward Eva Brekke, one of her Foreign Ministry aides.    

“I find that hard to believe, Your Majesty.”  Eva was already brandishing papers from her attaché case.  “Their embassy gave me a serious runaround trying to get our visas and clearances, but we _do_ have them.  Everything is properly signed and stamped.”  

Elsa clamped down on her irritation.  What kind of games were these people playing?  She’d had to get personally involved in the visa situation, calling the MCA Embassy herself to speak directly to the ambassador.   She had a sneaky suspicion that President Imanutjob – _dammit, now Anna’s got me thinking of him like that too!_ – had a hand in the intrigue. 

 _Your Majesty, I wanted to let you know that you are in my thoughts and prayers_ , he’d said when he called.  _I assure you that we are using all of our resources in Muscovian Central Africa to aid in the search for Princess Anna._

Although her skin had crawled, she’d thanked him politely, and wondered if he might be able to look into the diplomatic clearance situation.

 _Of course, Your Majesty_ , he’d said with a patronizing laugh.

The bureaucratic logjams at the MCA Embassy had broken up shortly afterward.  But either the proper word hadn’t yet filtered to the home office, or they were deliberately keeping her at bay.  If they were forced to divert to Niari, the capital of neighboring Bateke, it would take at least another day to get into MCA.

_What are they hiding?_

“I’m sure it’s just a miscommunication,” she said to Eva.  “Call Ambassador Isaksen and tell him what’s happening.”  She turned back to Karlsen.  “What is our fuel status?”

“We’re not in any danger yet.  We have at least another hour before we would need to divert to Niari.”

Elsa nodded.  “Thank you, Colonel.  Please inform me immediately of any changes.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”  He gave her another slight bow and returned to the cockpit.

“Well,” Revel said when she looked at him again, “it seems that we’re not quite welcome in Muscovian Central Africa.”

Elsa had just opened her mouth to reply when movement outside her window caught her attention.  _What is that?_   She put her hand to the plexiglass to shield her eyes from the glare, gasping when she saw a military aircraft glide into position just off the Gulfstream’s wingtip.  Frost crawled across the window when she caught sight of the missiles hanging beneath the fighter’s wings.

Her head whipped around when Eva let out a cry.  Eva’s face was pressed to the window on the other side, and Elsa knew that a fighter had taken up position on that side of the Gulfstream as well.  She clenched her fists tightly as her ice rose in her chest.  She fought to keep it in check, but it seeped through her fingers and rose to cover her forearms. 

When she was sure she had control of both her ice and her voice, she met Revel’s eyes and said, “No.  I don’t think we’re welcome at all.”

 

*****

Anna peered over the front edge of her fighting position, straining to see through the clouds of dust and dirt.  She and Lockhart occupied a foxhole well down the line from the M240, near the edge of the main bunker complex.  Mortar rounds were still falling steadily, but Anna knew that as soon as they stopped, the enemy soldiers would advance on Bunker Hill. 

Another round impacted close, sending her diving to the bottom of the hole.  She cursed as more sand and rock fragments showered on her.  The foxhole wasn’t really big enough for two people if one of them was Lockhart – his bulk squashed her up against the side as they crouched and she could hardly breathe.  Gasping, she wiggled loose and carefully brought her head back over the sandbags lining the position.

“Smoke,” she said.  _They’re coming_.

The field phone jammed into the corner of the sandbags growled.  Lockhart picked it up and listened for a second.  “Roger that.”  He hung up, then brought his weapon up and settled into a firing stance, scanning the area to their front.  “Our guys down there are pulling back, so make sure you ID your targets before you start shooting.”

Anna gulped and imitated him, propping her elbows on the sandbags to support her AK.  As she pressed her cheek to the stock and peered through the sights, it occurred to her that she hadn’t zeroed the weapon.  She hadn’t even fired it. 

“I haven’t zeroed,” she said.  “I might not hit a damn thing.”

“Relax, LT,” Lockhart said.  “Just aim center of mass.  And shoot where he’s gonna be, not where he is.”

Anna nodded and eased her grip on her weapon, cradling it on her supporting hand instead of trying to strangle it.  Her heart pounded in her ears as she squinted into the smoke that was now rolling across their positions.  Shadowy figures ran toward them through the billowing screen.  Anna put her sights on one of them, hoping desperately that she would be able to tell friend from foe.

 

*****

Major M.C. ‘Fitz’ Fitzwilliam eased up the collective on her MH-60 DAP Blackhawk.  In moments, the bird was light on the wheels and gliding three feet above the floor as she slid out of the hangar.  It wasn’t until she was nearly clear that she spotted the soldier next to the door with a small tow cart.  The soldier gave her a rueful grin and pointed.

Fitz whipped her head around.  The base commander, a full colonel whose most notable attributes were his substantial beer gut and his complete antipathy toward the Nightstalkers being on ‘his’ base, stood opposite the soldier, arms folded over his chest.  His scowl held the promise of yet another lecture on why Lifting Off Inside the Hangar Is Explicitly Proscribed During Garrison Operations.

The problem was, the Nightstalkers didn’t _do_ garrison operations.  The colonel’s unit might be here to do partner exercises with the Kivu army, but Fitz’s company of special ops aviators were not.  They had a live mission to support American Special Forces teams scattered throughout central Africa, and there were no little tow carts in most of those scenarios.  Even the gentle glide out of the hangar was something she didn’t want her crews to get used to doing.  In forward operations, pilots wanted to be accelerating hard when they first became visible from her hidey-holes, which were usually camo nets strung between trees at the ass-end of nowhere, not (relatively) comfortable bases outside a major city.  They made accommodations for safety in the confines of the base, but Fitz didn’t want them to lose their aggressive mindsets.

Fitz thought the colonel’s real issue was that he had been ordered to provide logistics support to the Nightstalkers, but had no authority over them whatsoever.  And the fact that Fitz was a woman, a woman in command of one of the Army’s most elite combat aviation units, irked him all the more.

“Colonel Bud looks pissed.”  The amusement in First Lieutenant Archie Stevens’ Texas drawl was obvious even through the headset.  “You’ll be standing tall in front of his desk when we get back.”

Fitz snorted.  “And it will end the same way it always does.” 

“With that big purple vein in his temple blinking like a strobe light,” her co-pilot laughed.

Fitz stayed in her low hover and floated completely clear of the hangar.  Then she raised the collective and pushed the cyclic forward, taking off with what she hoped was a mighty downwash.  She grinned to herself when she heard Big C, her crew chief, announce, “You made Colonel Bud chase his hat again, Major.”

“That’s probably the only PT he’s done all week,” Archie quipped.

Fitz chuckled as she swung her bird away from the base.  Then she dropped it to the treetops and headed north.  It was a routine flight, so she didn’t _have_ to fly terrain-following, but skills neglected were skills that dulled.  Besides, no reason to let the locals get too good a look at them.

“So why do you call him Colonel Bud?” asked Sergeant Stephanie Kawaguchi, Fitz’s new gunner. “I thought his name was Marsella?”

Kawaguchi, who Archie had already dubbed ‘Cowabunga’ for her intensity, was the primary reason for today’s flight.  They were headed for the live-fire range about thirty miles north.  According to RUMINT, Cowabunga was not only the second woman to ever make the grade for Nightstalker flight ops, she was also the best gunner to come out of Fort Campbell in years.  Fitz wanted to judge that for herself.

“Yeah, that’s what it says on his name tag,” Archie replied.  “But you have to admit that his Budweiser tumor is really fucking impressive.”

The crackle the of the radio cut through Cowabunga’s braying laughter.  “Viper Zero Six, this is Viper Base, over.”

“Less chatter,” Fitz ordered.  She keyed the radio.  “Base, this is Six, over.”

“Six, we lost contact with Buckeye during comms check and haven’t been able to get them back.  Can you see if you can raise them?”

“Roger that.  Wait one, over.”

Archie was already on the other radio, calling for Buckeye, the Special Forces team across the river in Muscovian Central Africa.  He shook his head.  “No response,” he said over the intercom.

“Base, this is Six, negative contact with Buckeye.  They may have problems with their main antenna.  We’ll see if can raise them short-range.”

“Roger, Six.  Standard ROE is still in place.  Let us know when you have them.”

“Wilco.  Six out.”  Fitz banked her bird and headed west out over the Kivu River.

\-------

Ten minutes later, Fitz was back on the radio.  “Base, this is Six.  Buckeye is under heavy ground attack.  I say again, Buckeye is under heavy ground attack.  Looks like MCA regulars with unknown augmentation, at least a battalion plus.  Get Viper Zero Four up and moving.  We are going in for support.”

Base acknowledged, and Fitz swung the Blackhawk in a wide arc.  “Heads up, people.”

Smoke obscured most of Bunker Hill, where the SF operators had built their fortified command post.  Fitz dropped the Hawk and roared in low, right over the peak.  As her rotor wash cleared off some of the smoke, she could make out soldiers charging up the hill and see the line of tracers from the defenders’ position.  “Charge the miniguns,” she ordered over the intercom.  “All right, Cowabunga, time to show your stuff.”

The words had barely left her mouth before she saw a flash from the corner of her eye. 

“Two o’clock low!”  Cowabunga’s voice came through the headset even as Fitz slammed the Hawk down and sideways.  Something streaked past her vision, right where they’d just been. 

 _RPG_ , Fitz thought.  _Cheaper than my sidearm and forty million dollars more destructive_.  Her harness dug into her shoulders and crotch as she stood her bird on its nose.

“Truck,” Archie said.  “Ten o’clock, in the trees beside the road.  Four shooters running for it.”

“Got ‘em.”  Cowabunga again.

“On my mark,” Fitz ordered.  “Two, one – ”

Cowabunga unleashed her Gatling minigun in quick one-second bursts, in precise control of a weapon that could fire six thousand rounds per minute.  Fitz swung around, opening up the target further.  _Yeah, she’s good_.  Three men were down, and the fourth climbing onto the truck with a launcher.  On her command, Archie let loose one of the rockets, and the truck disintegrated in a plume of flame.

Fitz heeled her bird over and circled away, scanning for more targets.

 

*****

 

Anna jerked her head up as the helicopter roared right over them.  _Jesus, I never even heard it coming!_   Her jaw dropped as it swooped over the rebel camp like a great _Havørn_.  Two massive pylons stuck out from either side of the menacing bird, bristling with armament. 

Lockhart let out a little whoop.  “Looks like the cavalry’s here.”

Anna stared open-mouthed as the helicopter suddenly dove and rolled until it was almost inverted.  Tracer rounds burst from one side of it, then a rocket streaked from one of the pylons.  She saw a burst of flame as the rocket found its unseen target.

_Holy shit…that’s awesome!_

The sound of AK-47 fire drew her attention back to the ground.  The helicopter’s rotor wash had blown off much of the smoke, and now Anna could clearly see the attacking soldiers rushing toward them, the leads probably two hundred meters out.  She had just sighted in on one of them when Lockhart slammed down the field phone and grabbed her arm.

“Let’s go,” he ordered, shoving her out of the foxhole.

“Where are we going?” she demanded.

“Our guys are all in, so we’re pulling out.  Come on.”  He vaulted over the sandbag barrier and into the trench that led back inside Bunker Hill.

Anna scrambled to follow, but collided heavily with something as she went over the sandbags.  Her weapon flew from her hands, and she hit the ground with an agonized grunt.  Ignoring the pain in her ribs, she rolled over to see the surprised face of a white soldier.

They stared at each other for long moment, then both of them lunged for their weapons.  Anna’s hands closed around the barrel of her rifle.  Unable to right it in time, she swung it like a club.  There was a sickening _crunch_ as it struck the soldier in the face.  He screamed and fell back as blood squirted from his nose.  Anna hesitated for only a second before flipping her weapon around and shooting him.

She ran into the bunker complex, hurdling over the bodies of a couple of CAFM soldiers, as well as another Muscovian.  _How the hell did they get in here?_

She skidded into the command post to see Lockhart and Bo grappling with two enemy soldiers.  Afraid to shoot in such a confined space, Anna swung her AK again, bringing the rifle’s butt down hard on the neck of the soldier fighting Lockhart.  He fell to his knees, stunned, and Lockhart wrapped his massive arms around the man’s head and twisted. 

Anna looked away, only to see Bo kneeling over the man he had been fighting, wiping a bloody hunting knife clean on his trousers.  Anna’s head swam for a moment, then Lockhart was grabbing her arm again.

“You good, Bo?” Lockhart asked.

“We got it handled, man.  Get her outta here.”

“How did they get in here?” Anna asked as Lockhart hustled her out the other side of Bunker Hill. 

“Some of their point men probably snuck in with our guys who were falling back.  No one could tell who was who in all the smoke.”

They went over another sandbag wall, then Lockhart sent her sprinting toward the trees while he covered her.  Anna raced through the lingering smoke, flinching at the sounds of nearby rifle fire.  When she made it to the treeline, she threw herself into the undergrowth and brought her weapon around to cover Lockhart.  A few seconds later, he crashed to the ground next to her.  He pulled out his radio and adjusted the frequency.

“What are you doing?” Anna asked.

“Trying to talk to the chopper,” he replied.  He keyed the radio.  “Viper Blackhawk, this Buckeye One Three, over.”

A few moments of silence.  Lockhart repeated his call, and an incredulous female voice came back.

“Buckeye One Three, this is Viper Zero Six.  Bit Lockhart, is that you?” 

Anna could hear the rhythmic beat of the helicopter’s rotor blades behind the woman’s voice.  She looked around, but the chopper was nowhere in sight.

A grin broke across Lockhart’s face.  “Yes, ma’am, Major Fitz, ma’am.”

“One Three, what did you do to get sent back to durance vile?”

“Didn’t like all that clean living, Six.”

A long-suffering sigh came from the radio.  “Going to have to pull your chestnuts out again, am I, One Three?” 

“Roger that, Six.”

“Situation normal, then.”  Anna thought she heard the woman chuckle.  “Tell me what you need, One Three.  What is it you desire most right now?”

“What I really desire is a cold beer, Six, but I’ll settle for getting rid of the mortar fire that’s been chewing us up.”

“Way ahead of you.  We just tore through half a dozen mortars and their crews.  82 mike-mikes.  Anything else?”

“Cover for our people trying to withdraw.  Everyone moving northwest away from Bunker Hill is a friendly.  Attacker’s main effort is directly from the south.  Everyone is khaki is a bad guy.  After that, we could use a ride out of here, over.”

“How many is ‘we,’ One Three?”

Lockhart hesitated for a second.  “Three.  Me, one…foreign dignitary…and Jefferson’s body.”

“Jefferson’s body?”  Several tense moments passed, then the woman’s voice came back, all business.  “We’ve got another DAP inbound to help.  Head for pickup zone…Bravo Eight.  We’ll take care of rest.  Six out.”

Anna jumped as the Blackhawk thundered right over the treetops.  Its guns opened up on the attacking soldiers, the streaking tracers like a line of fire from a dragon’s mouth.  It banked hard, standing on its side, coming back around almost right over their heads.  Something streamed from the chopper’s open door, glinting gold in the angled sunlight.  They clinked against the ground, and Anna realized with a little thrill that the stream was expended brass casings from the helicopter’s guns.

Then Lockhart tugged on the back of her uniform and gestured for her to follow him.  They made their way carefully back down the hill, rushing in a crouch from the cover of one tree to another while watching for enemy soldiers.  When they found Jefferson, Lockhart slung his weapon and hefted the body over his shoulder.  Anna swallowed hard as Jefferson’s blood soaked into Lockhart’s uniform shirt.

“Hey.  LT.”  Anna looked up at him, and he jerked his head at her weapon.  “You’re going to have to cover both of us.  Okay?”

She nodded, and they set off through the trees.  Without a clear picture of the situation, they stayed off the paths, choosing to sacrifice speed for cover.  Though they could still hear the crack of small-arms fire behind them, punctuated by the buzzsaw of the chopper’s door guns, it seemed almost eerily quiet compared to being right in the middle of it.   Anna broke trail as quickly and silently as she could, but imagined that they sounded like a herd of elephants, especially after they crossed through a saddle and headed up the next hill.  Lockhart’s footfalls were heavy under his load, and she could hear the harsh pant of his breathing despite the ten meters or so between them. 

Anna stopped about halfway to the top to let Lockhart catch up.  Squatting next to a tree, she wiped the sweat from her face and pressed a hand against her throbbing ribcage.  _Gonna have to get that checked._ When Lockhart caught up to her, he lowered Jefferson’s body to the ground and leaned against the tree to catch his breath. 

“How much further?” Anna asked.

“Four hundred meters or so.”  He called Viper Zero Six again, reporting their location and estimated time to the pickup zone.  “Ready?” he asked, clipping the handset back to his gear.

“Yeah.”  Anna helped him get Jefferson back over his shoulder, then headed off in the direction he indicated.

The sound of rotor blades reached Anna’s ears as they skirted the crest of the hill, and the canopy rustled as the Blackhawk passed just over the top of them.  They picked up their pace as they headed downhill, breaking into a fast trot.  They could see the helicopter now, hanging over the treetops a hundred meters away.

The beating _thwap_ of the rotor blades grew louder, and through the gaps in the foliage, Anna saw the chopper, hovering a few feet off the ground.  Just before they reached the small clearing, Lockhart crashed to the ground.  He clutched his knee, letting out a stream of expletives.    

  “What happened?” Anna asked, rushing back to him.

“Stepped in a hole or something,” he ground out.  “I think I fucked up my knee.  Something popped.”

“Can you stand up?”

“Not sure.”

Lockhart hissed through his teeth as Anna helped him get up.  He tried to take a step, but his knee gave way and he leaned heavily on Anna.  He shook his head.  “No way.” 

His radio crackled.  “Buckeye One Three, this is Viper Zero Six.  We are at the PZ.  Over.” 

“Tell her to send one of her crew to help you,” Anna ordered.  “I’ll take Jefferson.”

Lockhart just stared at her for a second, then keyed the mic.  “Viper Zero Six, we are about thirty meters inside the treeline to your nine o’clock.  Need assistance, over.”

“Roger,” the clipped female voice came back.

A couple of minutes later, a tall, lanky man in a flight suit and helmet pushed his way through the undergrowth.  He slung his weapon when he saw them.  “Y’all need some help?”

“Help him,” Anna said, pointing at Lockhart.  Then she squatted next to Jefferson and tried to wrestle his body over her shoulders.  Jefferson wasn’t a big man, but he was a lot heavier than she had anticipated. 

Then the lanky aviator was helping her stand up straight, Jefferson draped across her shoulders.  “You sure you can carry him?”

 _No_.  “Yeah,” she managed.  “Just help Sergeant Lockhart, okay?”

“Roger that.”  Her head jerked up at the laughter in his voice.  The top half of his face was hidden behind a dark visor, but she could see his mouth twitching behind his helmet mic.  She scowled and started toward the helicopter.  Her ribs, along with every muscle in her body, screamed in protest with each step. 

She’d only gotten about halfway to the chopper before another crewman met her, this one almost as big as Lockhart.  With little effort, he took Jefferson from her and trotted back to the Blackhawk, ducking under the spinning rotor.  Anna helped the first aviator get Lockhart on board under watchful eye of the gunner.  As soon as she climbed aboard herself, someone clipped a harness around her and snapped a safety line to it. Seconds later, they were airborne.

Anna clung to the door frame as they slewed over the treetops, so low that branches slapped against the chopper’s underbelly.  Despite everything that had happened, she couldn’t help but whoop as she balanced in the open door, the wind whipping in her hair.  She’d been in helicopters before, but nothing like _this_.  The gunner on her side, a small soldier with a distinctly feminine shape, stared through her tinted helmet visor and shook her head.

They dipped lower as they passed over a road.  Anna sucked in a breath when she saw the twisted remains of Martin’s Land Rover.  Movement to one side of it caught her attention – a man waving frantically at them with both arms.  Anna did a double-take as she recognized Captain Vasilek.

“Take us down!” she yelled, her voice barely audible above the roar of the engines.

The gunner just looked at her.  Anna slid closer to her and yelled again, “Take us down!  We can’t leave him here!”

“Are you crazy?” the gunner yelled back.

“Tell the pilot!  We have to pick him up!” 

The gunner spoke into her mic, then reached behind her and grabbed a headset, holding it out to Anna.  Anna put it on and immediately heard the pilot’s voice.  “What’s going on?”

“Ma’am, we can’t leave Captain Vasilek here.  He might be Muscovian, but he didn’t ask to be dragged out here.  That’s my fault.  If the rebels catch him, they will slaughter him.”  _Maybe after feeding him his own dick_ , she didn’t add.

The pilot turned her head, and Anna could almost feel the intensity of her glare even through the dark visor.  Anna glared right back.  Then, without another word, the pilot turned away.  The helicopter banked and dropped quickly.

Anna gestured at Vasilek to hurry as the pilot put the chopper into a hover a few feet above the road.  He broke into a run.  Anna heard a gunshot, and dirt kicked up from the ground just behind Vasilek.  He kept running.  Another shot, and he went down.  He pushed himself to his feet, but only managed a few steps before falling again.

More shots came, and Anna jerked back as two rounds impacted the side of the helicopter.  The gunner shouted, and the chopper started to rise.  Anna saw Vasilek try to get up again, a desperate look on his face.  She unclipped her safety line and jumped.

 _Lockhart’s gonna kill me_ , she thought as she hit the ground and rolled.

She ran to Vasilek, who was bleeding from his thigh.  She helped him up, and they staggered back toward the Blackhawk.  The gunner opened up, raking suppressive fire across the ridge behind them.

Lockhart sat in the door, his face an angry mask as he yelled at them to move their asses.  They had just passed under the Blackhawk’s rotor arc when Anna’s side exploded with pain.  She cried out and stumbled to the ground.  The last thing she saw before she passed out was blood spreading across the front of her uniform.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Millicent Carolina “Fitz” Fitzwilliam is the creation of the lovely and talented StillSlightlyNerdy, and appears here with her permission.


	13. The Americans Want What? pt 12 or The Ice Queen Cometh

Elsa paced in the plane’s aisle.  She knew she shouldn’t – it was making her staff even edgier than they already were, and it wasn’t accomplishing anything.  Pacing was also indecorous.  Unqueenly.  She could almost hear her mother’s voice:  _People will look to you as an example, Elsa.  You must always project the confidence and dignity befitting your office._

It was also making her a bit dizzy.  The jet only had eight rows, and it seemed she was spinning on her heel every few seconds.

But undignified or not, the pacing was helping keep her powers under control, giving her something to focus on other than the storm within.  She concentrated on the cadence of her footfalls, counting the same number of quiet taps before each turn, the rhythm soothing the icy beast that strained at its leash.  Even so, small patches of frost formed with each step.

_What was I thinking?  I never should have let Anna come here.  She could have found another way to serve, she didn’t have to do it in the military, I could have given her a waiver so she didn’t have to serve at all_ … Even as the thoughts circulated through her brain, Elsa knew that she was being irrational.  Anna would do what she thought was right regardless of the Queen’s wishes.  She had already proven that.  The only way Elsa could stop her would be to lock her up.

_Maybe I should lock her up.  For my own mental well-being._ _Of course, I would have to be willing to trade her safety for a lifetime of the silent treatment…_

 

That thought was physically painful.  The year Anna had been gone had been almost as bad as losing Mamma and Poppa.  But somehow she had not been able to bring herself to reach out, to acknowledge Anna’s achievements.  Not until that day on the drop zone.  She had cared more for her damn dented pride than her baby sister.

_No.  Never again.  Anna is all I have left.  She’s...everything._

Elsa saw Eva shiver and shoot her a nervous look as she paced by her yet again.  There came a stab of guilt, quickly quashed.  She knew she’d caused the temperature in the cabin to drop uncomfortably, but her staff being chilly and anxious was much preferable to the entire airplane being coated in ice.  Ice on the wings was not conducive to continued flight.

Yes, better to be chilly and undignified than to – how did Anna say it? – _crash and burn_?

She glanced at her watch.  They’d been in the holding pattern for almost an hour.  Recalling Colonel Karlsen’s remarks about fuel, she made her way toward the cockpit.  The door opened just as she reached it.

“Your Majesty,” Colonel Karlsen said.  “I was just on my way to report to you.”  Elsa gestured for him to continue.  “We will need to divert to Niari within the next ten minutes in order to keep a safe fuel margin.”

Elsa’s lips pressed into a tight line.  “Options?”

“Limited, as I see them, Your Majesty.  The tower has been unresponsive other than to tell us to remain in the holding pattern.”

“Declare an emergency.”

Karlsen’s eyes widened.  “Your Majesty?”

 “As I understand it, if we declare an emergency, they not only have to permit us to land, they have to give us priority?”

“That’s essentially correct, yes.  But Your Majesty, given Kohro Control’s behavior so far, and the presence of those fighters, our reception on the ground is likely to be…hostile.”

“At the moment, Colonel, I’m feeling a bit hostile myself.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Karlsen turned to settle back into the pilot’s seat and reached for his headset.  Before he put it on, he turned back to her and asked, “Your Majesty, what is the nature of our emergency?”

Elsa gave him a grim half-smile.  “You’re carrying the Snow Queen.  Tell them we’re having a problem with ice.”

 

*******

 

“Hostile, indeed,” Elsa murmured as the Gulfstream taxied up to the terminal.  Three security vehicles awaited them, with stern-faced officers standing by.  Several of the officers were armed with military rifles.  Elsa felt a little frisson of fear, quickly overridden by cold contempt.

_That’s quite a show of force for a business jet carrying the queen of a small nation and a handful of her aides.  Why are they so nervous?_

“I see the welcoming – or the not-so-welcoming – committee is here,” Revel commented, leaning over her shoulder to look out the window.   “Who are they expecting, Freydis the Mad?”

Elsa snorted at the mention of her most bloodthirsty ancestor.  “They’re a bit behind the curve, then, considering that the berserker member of House Arendelle arrived a couple of weeks ago.”

“Makes you wonder what Anna’s been up to, if they feel the need to be armed like that.”  Revel straightened up and tugged her away from the window.  “Seriously, Elsa, I don’t like the situation.  It doesn’t feel right.”

“You should have said something before we left.”

“I did.”

“Hmm.  Well, best be on your toes, then.”  Elsa peered out the window again, concentrating on the plane’s wings.  They were soon coated in a thick layer of ice.  As a finishing touch, she left a sparkling icicle dangling from each wingtip. 

_That should give them something to think about._

She turned and strode up the aisle to where the Gulfstream’s crew chief had just lowered the staircase.  As Revel and the rest of her security detail descended to the tarmac, Elsa scanned the waiting arrival party.  No one from the Arendelle Embassy was present, despite Eva having spoken directly to Ambassador Isaksen.  No familiar faces, just the expressionless guards with their eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses.

_So that’s how they’re going to play it._

At the nod from Revel, she straightened her jacket and stepped out of the plane.  She paused at the top of the stairs, blinking a few times into the bright Central African sun.  _Oh my God, it’s like walking into a sauna._   Elsa’s powers instinctively responded to the heat, chilling the air around her.  She reined them in enough to keep from frosting the stairs as she descended, but there was no way she was going to let these people see her sweat.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, a squat Central African man in an ill-fitting suit emerged from one of the security vehicles.  Revel quickly stepped forward to intercept him when he hurried toward Elsa.  The officers tensed, some of them shifting their weapons.  Elsa’s security detail moved to surround her.

Elsa gestured for them to step aside, then beckoned the Central African man forward.  Revel stayed at his shoulder, clearly unhappy with the proximity to his queen.  Elsa drew herself up to her full height.  With her heels, she was a good five inches taller than the man, and she peered down her nose at him.  He fidgeted beneath her cool gaze and gave her an awkward bow.

“Your Majesty, my name is Claude Loemba,” he said in accented English.  “I am the Customs and Immigration director here at Kohro Airport.” 

Elsa said nothing, just regarded him with aloof dignity.  His wire-rim glasses slid down his nose.  He fished a handkerchief from his pocket to clean them, then wiped his sweating face.  It did little good – his glasses slid right back down as soon as he put them on.  Elsa let him stew for a few more moments. 

“Well, Mr. Loemba, this is quite a show of force.  I’m not sure I feel quite welcome.  Do you greet all visiting heads of state in such a manner?”

_That was a bit misleading_ , she thought.  While she _was_ a head of state, her visit was personal, not official.  She almost felt sorry for Loemba – he probably had little knowledge and even less responsibility for the situation.  He appeared to be simply a bureaucrat.

On the other hand, he was one more obstacle in her quest to find Anna, so her sympathy was in short supply.

Loemba started spewing a mixture of apologies and self-defense, babbling about missing papers, proper procedures, and lack of communication.   Elsa cut him off with a raised hand.  “Mr. Loemba, why don’t we finish this inside?  As you can guess, we are not exactly accustomed to this kind of heat.”

She stepped around him to head for the terminal, then stopped short at the unmistakable _clack_ of rifle rounds being chambered.  Elsa’s heart pounded in her ears, but she forced herself to turn slowly as her security detail surrounded her again.  Revel’s hand came to the small of her back, ready to propel in whatever direction became necessary.

She eyed the armed airport security men with disdain.  A flick of her wrist, and ice raced up the gun barrels and capped the muzzles.  There was a collective gasp from the men.  One of them dropped his rifle in alarm.  It clattered to the pavement, making everyone jump.

“I can assure you this is unnecessary,” Elsa said to Loemba, clasping her hands in front of her to mask their trembling.  “My aide has all of our documentation, properly signed and stamped.”  She nodded toward Eva, who stood wide-eyed at the bottom of the Gulfstream’s stairs.  “Let’s go inside, and I am confident we can get this straightened out.”

Elsa turned on her heel and strode toward the terminal.  She could feel the eyes on her back.  Her fists closed over the magic sparking in her palms, and she hoped that the blistering heat would be enough to melt the frost trailing in her wake.

 

*****

 

The stonewalling at the airport had continued even after they went into the terminal, with Elsa and her party being escorted to a conference room to process through customs.

Filling out customs and immigration paperwork was something Elsa had never done - her staff took care of such things for her when she traveled.  She didn’t even own a passport.  Since all Arendellan passports were issued in the name of the Queen, she would essentially be issuing a passport to herself.  As the paperwork piled up on the conference table, Elsa had begun to wonder if she was going to be personally responsible for the deforestation of Muscovian Central Africa.

 Finally she’d had enough.  She was not attempting to smuggle in cigarettes, drug paraphernalia, automobiles, livestock, weaponry, pornography, or anything else on the seemingly endless list of banned items. She told Loemba to contact the Arendelle ambassador for anything else he required.  Then she swept out of the airport and into the embassy car that had been apparently waiting out in the sweltering heat for over two hours.

Elsa’s mood was even more foul by the time she stalked into her suite at the hotel in downtown Kohro.  She flopped onto the sofa in a most unqueenly manner.  She wanted chocolate, coffee, and a long shower, preferably in that order.  While Revel called room service, Ambassador Isaksen briefed her on the situation.

“The search for Princess Anna is ongoing.”  Isaksen pushed his fingers through his silver hair and looked at her with tired gray eyes.  “The MCA government hasn’t told us told us anything official.  But we’ve heard through unofficial channels that they…they found the plane.  Well, several major pieces of it, anyway.  And... bodies.  But nothing that…that could be Her Highness.  Or the American that was supposedly with her.”

Elsa and Revel exchanged glances.  Anna had indeed not chosen to contact the Arendellan embassy.  But why?  What was she up to?  More importantly, _where_ was she?

“Your Majesty, I have to believe that Princess Anna was one of the paratroopers that managed to get out of the plane before it went down,” Isaksen said.  “There is still hope that she’ll be found.”

“I am trying to stay positive, Ambassador.”  Elsa leaned back against the couch cushions, listening with half an ear as the ambassador updated her on everything he had learned about Anna and the talks between MCA, Muscovia, and the Americans.  Revel reached over to squeeze her shoulder briefly, and she shot him a small smile of gratitude.  When Isaksen finished, Elsa said, “I want a meeting with Mwenye.  Today, as soon as possible.”

Before Isaksen could respond, Revel, a hand to his earwig, said, “Your Majesty, Eva is here with one of President Mwenye’s aides.”

Elsa raised an eyebrow and nodded for Revel to bring them in.  Mwenye’s aide, a thin man in an immaculate white linen suit, gave her a bow and an ingratiating smile.  “Your Majesty, please accept my most profound apologies for your experience at our airport.  It was a terrible mistake on the part of the bureaucracy, and those responsible have been severely reprimanded.  The President extends his warmest welcomes to you.  He is overjoyed that you are here, and wishes to show you every hospitality.”

Elsa took an already-open envelope from Eva’s extended hand and glanced at the invitation inside.  _I just bet he does._

 

*****

 

Elsa barely allowed Revel time to get the door open before she stormed back into the suite a few hours later, not caring that ice spread from her feet at every step.  Her meeting with President Mwenye, an informal dinner at his presidential palace, had been utterly fruitless.  A complete circle-jerk, as Revel had put it.  The only real information she’d gotten from the meeting was that the MCA army had just launched an attack on a rebel stronghold near the Kivu border.  Elsa didn’t give a damn about that – she just wanted to know what they were doing to find Anna.

She stalked into her bedroom, her anger barely under her control.   _How dare he?  How DARE he?_   Her magic swirled in her hands as she recalled President Mwneye’s patronizing remarks, his not-so-subtle dismissal of Anna as a foolish girl unschooled in the nuances of international affairs.

_Your sister is charming, Your Majesty, though not a sophisticated woman such as yourself.  She is naïve, callow – to be expected, really, in one so young.  She has little appreciation of the burdens that a leader such as I must bear.  I am sure you understand, bearing the duties of Queen as you do._

The only burden Mwenye really bore, Elsa though, was how much to pucker up while kissing Imanovajov’s ass.

Mwenye had treated Elsa with barely more respect than he’d shown when talking about Anna.  She had spent most of dinner trying to keep as much distance between them as humanly possible.  His undisguised ogling made her skin crawl. Had he done the same to Anna?  Had he touched her?

_No, if he had done that, she probably would have punched him in the face, and then I’d be dealing with a whole different type of international incident.  Just like when she decked that jackass from Pomerania._

The Americans were little better than Mwneye himself.  They were the chaotic neutrals, coldly observing the situation to determine what outcome would best serve their interests.  General Combs, the head of the American delegation, appeared oddly indifferent to Anna’s plight – and to the fact that one of his own soldiers was missing as well –  expressing concern only about how much it delayed completion of the talks.  Though he’d seemed a bit shocked by the president’s announcement about the MCA army’s attack against the rebels. 

 A knock at the bedroom door pulled her from her thoughts.  “Your Majesty?”  Revel’s voice called.  “There’s someone here to see you.”

To her embarrassment, she found the door coated in ice, and had to wave it away before she could pull it open.  _Get a grip_ , she chided herself.  Revel and a uniformed MCA army officer stood outside.  Elsa recognized the officer as Major Sefu, who had escorted her to the meeting with President Mwenye.  _What does_ he _want?_

“What can I do for you, Major?” she asked, not even trying to keep the frost out of her voice.

Sefu’s tension was palpable, his eyes darting around the suite before settling on her face.  “Your Majesty,” he said, giving her a little bow, “I apologize for intruding, but I have some information for you.”  He lowered his voice to barely above a whisper.  “About Princess Anna.”

_Is this a trick?_   Elsa studied him for a moment, trying to keep her face impassive.  Sefu was a major, a junior staff officer.  His assignment as her escort had been intended as an insult.  Mwenye would never pass any important information through such a low-ranking person.  So what was Sefu really doing here?

“Let’s sit down, Major.”  They settled on the sofa.  “Please, go on.  What about Anna?”

Sefu glanced at Revel, then looked around again, as though he expected armed goons to suddenly spring out and arrest him.  _That fear is probably not unfounded_ , Elsa thought wryly, _given his president’s reputation._   Still, as his silence dragged out, she had to clasp her hands in her lap to cover her impatience.

“Major, you can speak freely here,” Revel said.  “Any place where the Queen stays is swept for listening devices several time a day.”

Sefu let out a long breath.  “You received a message from Princess Anna several days ago, passed through the CARE office in Arendelle City.”

It was not a question.  Elsa opened and closed her mouth a few times before saying, “Yes, I did.  How did you know that?”  Her temper flared.  “Does your president know?”  _Did he just sit there and lie right to my face about Anna?  If I find out he did, I will –_

“Your Majesty,” Sefu said hastily, “The President doesn’t know about this.  The reason I know is because the message was sent to Arendelle by my cousin, Neema Sefu.  Princess Anna is with her, at her camp in Kibombo Province.”

“But who…?”  Elsa trailed off as she glanced at the major’s nametag.  Sefu.  The name was familiar…   

_Komen Sefu.  Member of the MCA Parliament.  Leader of the Central African Freedom Movement._ Data from her briefing materials scrolled through her head. _Supposedly killed during an armed robbery, suspected to actually have been murdered by Mwneye’s secret police.  CAFM thought to now be under the leadership of his daughter, one Neema Sefu…_

Elsa sucked in a breath.  _He’s Neema Sefu’s cousin._   _Mwenye_ doesn’t _know about this_.  The major was here without authorization.  He was a rebel sympathizer. 

_Maybe more than a sympathizer._

Maybe he was committing treason.

But if Anna was with Neema Sefu, that meant… “Anna is with the rebels?  In their camp?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Sefu and Revel both shivered as the room’s temperature plunged.  Ice crackled beneath Elsa’s feet.

“Was that the ‘rebel stronghold’ that was attacked today?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”  Sefu gaped at the ice spreading across the carpet.

 “Where is Anna now?  Is she all right?  What happened to the camp?”  Elsa sprang to her feet.  “Tell me!”

“I don’t know,” Sefu said through his chattering teeth.  “I haven’t been able to make contact with my cousin since I found out about the attack.”

Elsa clenched her fists, but the ice escaped anyway, covering her forearms in thick translucent gauntlets.  Snowflakes swirled around them as her magic roared up inside her.  Elsa turned and fled to the bedroom, barely getting the door closed before the storm broke loose.

She ignored the banging on the door, shut out Revel’s worried voice as she tried to get control of both herself and the tempest that engulfed the bedroom.  She paced the floor, her litany of _get it together, control yourself_ clicking through her mind.  But after every admonition came a mental picture of Anna.  Hurt.  Bleeding.  Elsa curled in on herself, trying to stave off the image she knew would be next.

_Control it.  Control it.  You can’t unleash a blizzard on an equatorial country._

Step, step, step, turn.

_Control it.  Control it.  You don’t know if she’s hurt.  She could be fine._

She jumped as the door burst open, sending ice shards showering to the floor.  Revel stood there, his phone in his hand and a grim look on his face.  “We’ve found her.”

Elsa straightened up and pulled the storm back in.  “Take me to her.  Now.”

 

*****

The MH-6 Little Bird barreled along the river just feet above the water’s surface.  Fitz scanned around her, the world rushing by in the surreal green blur of her night vision goggles.  She kept one eye on her heads-up display.  It was two o’clock in the morning, and river traffic would be light, but the last thing she wanted was to was collide with some fisherman’s rusty scow.  That could end badly for both the boat and the helicopter.

And it would draw attention to their highly unusual and completely unauthorized flight.

“I hope you know you ruined my evening,” Archie complained from the co-pilot’s seat.  “I finally convince Captain Sinclair to have dinner with me, and you drop this taxi pickup on me.”

“I saved your ass,” Fitz retorted.  “Sinclair is a man-eater.”

“Oh, Lord, I hope so.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Guilty.  But with any luck, Sinclair won’t care.”

“Her reputation suggests that she won’t.”

“Hey now, that’s my lady you’re talking about.”

“Your definition of ‘lady’ is fairly broad, Archie.  Besides, I always thought Sinclair was more my type than yours.”

“I swear to God, Fitz, if you steal another woman from me, I’ll – ”

Fitz’s laughter drowned out the rest of his threat.

“So who are picking up, exactly?” Archie asked, a little pout still in his voice.  “The mission brief was a little light on details.”

“Lieutenant Arendelle’s sister.” 

“We’re flying a cross-border, dead-of-night, stealth mission to pick up some foreign lieutenant’s sister?  What the fuck, Fitz?  I know the lieutenant’s in a bad way, but _damn_.”

“The family is prominent,” Fitz said, wincing at the understatement.  She could hardly believe it herself.  The reckless young lieutenant who’d been roaming the jungle with Bit Lockhart, who had leaped from a helicopter to rescue a Musco officer, was the Crown Princess of Arendelle, sister to the Queen.

“Well, she better be the fucking queen, then.”

Fitz coughed.  _If only you knew_.  She and Lockhart had decided that it would be safer for Lieutenant Arendelle if they kept her identity between them.  ‘Safer’ was a relative term – Fitz wasn’t sure the young woman would even survive surgery.  It had been all they could do to keep her alive until they got to the hospital. 

Fitz didn’t know what all the implications were, but she trusted Lockhart.  If he thought it was important enough to risk his career, his _life_ , then that was all Fitz really needed to know.  So Big C and Cowabunga were standing watch with Bit at the hospital while she and Archie snuck into the MCA capital.

They swung around a bend in the river, and the lights of Kohro glowed bright in Fitz’s goggles.  She checked her map display.  According to the GPS, the pickup point was just a few blocks in from the riverfront.  “Two minutes to feet dry.”

Fitz keyed the air-to-ground radio.  “Arendelle One, the is Little Bird.  We are three mikes out, over.”

“Little Bird, this is Arendelle One,” a male voice came back, his English lightly accented.  “We are on the roof.  Look for our signal.”

“What’s the signal?” Archie asked.

“Bit said we’d know it when we saw it.”

Fitz angled the Little Bird toward the shore.  As she did, a flare of light filled her NVGs, hovering over the top of a three-story building.  She shoved the googles to the top of her helmet before they could kill her night vision.

Archie had done the same, and now he stared through the cockpit canopy, mouth hanging open.

“Is that…is that a _snowflake_?”

 

*****

Elsa watched wide-eyed as the helicopter descended toward them, guided in by her large snowflake, glowing blue-white over the roof of the Arendelle Embassy.  “Where are they going to land?” she asked, gesturing at the maintenance sheds and electrical equipment that dotted the roof. 

“Lockhart says these guys can land on a picnic table bobbing in the ocean,” Revel said.  “I don’t think the roof will be a problem.”

Sure enough, the helicopter came down precisely between the obstacles.  It didn’t quite touch down, the skids hovering just inches above the pebbled surface.

_‘Little Bird’ indeed!_   The helicopter didn’t seem to be much bigger than a drone.  _There aren’t even any seats in it!  Where are we supposed to ride?_

One of the pilots unstrapped and hopped down onto the roof.  A woman, Elsa realized, when the pilot pulled off her helmet to stare up at the snowflake still floating over the building.  Elsa waved her hand to disperse the snowflake.  The female pilot shook her head, then strode toward them.  She was quite tall, Elsa saw, about the same height as Revel.

“Queen Elsa?” Elsa nodded and the woman gave her an awkward half-bow, as though uncertain as to what she supposed to do.  Any other time, Elsa would have been amused, since the woman struck her as being otherwise quite competent.  “I’m Major Fitzwilliam.  If you’ll come with me, we’ll get going.  I don’t think anyone saw us, but I’d rather not test that.”

They followed Fitzwilliam to the helicopter.  Elsa’s stomach sank when the pilot folded a bench down from its side.  A very narrow bench.  On the _outside_ of the helicopter.  “Are…are _those_ the seats?”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Fitzwilliam smiled and patted the bench. 

Elsa swallowed and climbed up.  Fitzwilliam pulled a harness around her, then clipped a safety line to it, muttering something that sounded like, “hope this one’s not a jumper.”  She must have seen something in Elsa’s face, because she quickly said, “Ma’am, you’re in good hands.  I’m one of the best pilots in the Army’s most elite aviation unit.  I’ll get you to your sister.”

“Thank you, Major.”  Elsa pulled on the helmet Fitzwilliam gave her.  She heard Revel’s voice on the intercom, talking with the co-pilot as he harnessed himself in on the other side of the tiny helicopter.

Moments later, the helicopter rose away from the Arendelle embassy and swooped down over the river.  Elsa clung to the frame, her lower legs dangling in the wind.  As the city lights faded into the distance, she reminded herself over and over that she loved her baby sister more than anything else in the world.

 

 


	14. The Americans Want What? pt 13 or Do You Wanna Be the Queen?

Elsa hated the hospital. She hated everything about it.  The harsh glare of the fluorescent lights.  The antiseptic odors that made her nose twitch.  The squeak of rubber-soled shoes against the floor.  The rhythmic chirp of the heart monitor.

But at least the repetitive _beep – beep – beep_ reassured her that Anna’s heart was still beating, strong and steady.

Despite knowing that Anna had been injured, despite having had several hours to brace herself, nothing really could have prepared Elsa for the sight of her baby sister in that hospital bed, buried amidst tubes and wires and fluid bags and blinking monitors.  It had taken all of her control not to ice the entire floor.

The gasps she’d heard in her wake said that she hadn’t been entirely successful at that.

Elsa shifted in her seat.  Between the long flight – _with my feet hanging out of the helicopter, oh my God_ – and the hard plastic of the hospital chair, her lower back was complaining.  But she couldn’t bring herself to let go of Anna’s hand long enough to find a more comfortable position.

She looked down at their joined hands, stroking her thumb across her sister’s knuckles.  Anna’s skin, normally just a shade darker than her own, now carried a deeper tan from sun exposure.  The dirt around her fingernails and in the creases of her palms spoke to her time out in the Central African bush.  It bothered Elsa more than she cared to admit.  Had Anna’s condition been so bad that they’d rushed her into surgery without cleaning her up properly?

 Elsa shuddered as she recalled the doctor’s gentle voice, reciting the litany of Anna’s injuries.  Gunshot wound to her torso.  Internal hemorrhaging.  Broken ribs.  Concussion.

In her state of near-panic, Elsa had managed to latch on to the doctor’s last words: _she’s young and strong.  I expect a full recovery._

_Full recovery.  Full recovery_.  Those two words, repeated in counterpoint to the cadence of the heart monitor, were the only things keeping her ice at bay.

With her free hand, Elsa brushed some stray bangs back from Anna’s forehead.  Anna’s red hair and freckles stood out even more than usual, her normally ruddy cheeks pale.  When was the last time she saw Anna so still?  She couldn’t remember.  Her sister always seemed to be in perpetual motion, a vibrating mass of restless energy.  Even her sleep was kinetic, if her nearly-untamable bedhead was any indication.

There was no bedhead now, though.  Just copper-colored hair splayed across the pillow, some of the strands still stiff from sweat and dust.  Elsa pushed a stray lock back from Anna’s temple.  Her fingers brushed over a rough spot, and she leaned in for a closer look.  A thin red scab ran along Anna’s hairline from her temple down to the front of her ear.  It stood out starkly against the pallor of her skin.

_Oh, Anna_ … Elsa traced the scab with a trembling finger, over and over, fighting the tears burning her eyes.  Then with a great gasp, her chest heaved and the tears escaped.  Clutching desperately at Anna’s hand, she buried her face in her sister’s side to muffle her cries as her entire body shook with sobs.

 

*****

_Am I awake?_

Anna wasn’t really quite sure.  Her head was foggy, and odd thoughts darted around in her mind.  She considered sitting up, but her body seemed so heavy, and too warm.  She sagged into mattress.  Had Elsa piled a bunch of blankets on her again?  _I told her I can’t move when she does that_.

Elsa was always so worried about her getting cold.

And what was that noise?  The steady beep was annoying, but not quite like an alarm clock.  It seemed important, somehow.  She should get up.  But she was so tired.

Anna forced her eyes open, struggling to get them to focus.  White ceiling, white walls, white sheets.  _This is not my room_.  The insistent chirp continued, and Anna’s eyes shifted to see a green screen.  A light moved across it, leaving a series of peaks and valleys that corresponded with each beep.  A heart monitor.

_I’m in a hospital._

Then it all came back in a rush.  Bunker Hill.  The American helicopter.  Vasilek’s panicked face.  Her blood-soaked uniform.

Anna tried to sit up, then stifled a cry as her body screamed in protest.  _Oh, ow, ow, ow.  Getting shot sucks._   She tried to move her hand to her side, to press against the pain flaring there, but something held it fast.  Something soft, and a bit cool.

A pale hand, clutching hers tightly.

“Elsa?”  Her voice came out in a little croak.

_Elsa came for me_.  Warmth flooded Anna’s chest, pushing her pain back.  _How did she find me?_   

It couldn’t have been easy - Elsa was a sight.  Anna couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen her sister outside the castle looking like she did now, wearing jeans and an old Arendelle University t-shirt, her hair in a messy braid.  She sat awkwardly in a hard plastic chair, her head resting on the mattress at Anna’s side.  Thick blonde tendrils had escaped the braid to fall around her face.  Several strands waved in front of her nose, rising and falling along with her steady breathing.  Anna couldn’t help but giggle a bit at her soft snores. 

_So the regal Queen actually snores!  Not letting that go.  Ever._

She tucked the loose hair behind Elsa’s ear, grimacing at the pinch of the IV needle in the back of her free hand.  Then she let her knuckles stroke down a smooth pale cheek.  Elsa mumbled and stirred, making Anna giggle again, then her eyes flew open, looking up into Anna’s own.

“Anna!”  Elsa moved as though to throw her arms around her, then pulled herself up short, instead squeezing Anna’s hand convulsively in both of her own.  Anna winced; had Elsa’s grip always been that strong?  Then Elsa’s hands were moving over her face and hair, and Anna could hear the hitch in her voice as she murmured “Oh, Anna” over and over again.

Anna grasped Elsa’s t-shirt and tried to pull her down for a hug, but couldn’t quite suppress a grunt of pain.  Elsa stiffened for a second, then pressed her face into Anna’s neck.  Anna could feel her trembling.

Elsa finally pulled back.  “Oh, Anna, I was so scared I’d lost you.”  She took Anna’s hand again, threading their fingers together.  Her skin was much cooler now, and when she looked up, Anna saw tears welling in her eyes.

Anna’s throat tightened as a chill swept through the room.  When was the last time she saw Elsa cry?  She couldn’t quite remember.  Maybe when Poppa spanked her for freezing Nanny Berghild’s big butt?  She hadn’t even cried at Momma and Poppa’s funeral.  She’d just worn that implacable royal mask all through the ceremony.  The Ice Queen dressed entirely in black.

The winter storm in the castle’s residential wing had been the only outward sign of Elsa’s grief.

Elsa always seemed so strong, and Anna hated that she was the cause of her distress.  “Please don’t cry, Elsa.”  She squeezed Elsa’s hand.  “I’m okay.”

Elsa jerked her hand free and clasped it against her chest.  “You’re not okay, Anna!  You were shot, you could have died!”  The temperature took another dive as her shoulders hunched in and the tears spilled down her cheeks.

“But I didn’t.”

“Anna!”

“Elsa, please.”  Anna held out her hand.  Elsa just stared at it, and for a long moment, Anna was afraid her sister wouldn’t respond.  But finally, Elsa reached out.  Anna brought the hand to her chest.  “I’m still here.  If you don’t believe that” – she nodded toward the heart monitor – “then believe this.”  She pressed Elsa’s cool fingers flat over her heart.  “Okay?”

Another long pause.  Then Elsa nodded, wiping her free hand across her cheeks.  “I just…I don’t…I was so scared for you.”

“I’m sorry.”  Anna tugged at her sister’s hand.  “Sit with me?”

Elsa let out a sniffley giggle.  “What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Anna couldn’t muster the energy for anything more than sticking out her tongue.  “I mean here, you stinker.”  She patted the mattress.

“Anna, I don’t think – ”

“Please?  I need my big sister.”

Elsa sniffled again.  “How can I resist that face?” she said with a watery smile.  She carefully eased herself onto the bed.

Anna closed her eyes and leaned against her, smiling when she felt Elsa’s lips against her hair.  She was just slipping back into sleep when she heard Elsa whisper, “Anna, do you want to be Queen?”

“What?  No!”

“You pull another stunt like this, and I’ll have a heart attack, and then you will be.”

 

*****

 

Revel watched from just outside the door as Elsa slid onto the bed next to her sister.  He’d heard the doctor.  Knew Anna’s prognosis was good.  But he couldn’t quite catch his breath until he actually saw her wake up.  She was obviously in pain, but she was alive. 

As Elsa nodded off again, Revel turned to speak to the two American soldiers standing watch outside the room.  Members of Major Fitzwilliam’s flight crew, who’d stayed behind to guard Anna.  They were at his disposal, they told him, by order of Master Sergeant Lockhart.

“Don’t let either one of them out of your sight,” he ordered them, before stalking off to try and clear his head.

How had Anna gotten to this point?  She’d always been a runner, but Revel thought he’d had all the bases covered.  He’d suspected that she might get a wild hair and try to give Marshmallow the slip.  That was why he’d called in a favor from Bit Lockhart.  A bodyguard that Anna was completely unaware of, in an unexpected place.  Marshmallow was good – one of his best men – but at this point Revel wasn’t sure that an entire platoon of bodyguards could keep up with the unpredictable princess.

Who could possibly anticipate Anna sneaking off for a hare-brained parachute jump into the middle of the jungle?

_Apparently Bit could.  For all the damn good it did.  He didn’t fucking protect her either._

Anger warred with his relief and guilt, and he wondered – not for the first time – if his emotional attachment to the Arendelle sisters compromised his ability to protect them.

He took a deep breath and pulled himself together.  There were still a lot of things he needed to take care of, given that they’d illegally crossed an international border, with no plan other than ‘just get to Anna.’  That action alone spoke to how distraught Elsa was – the woman didn’t even go to the bathroom without a detailed plan, and now they were in Kivu, with no luggage, no money, and no idea about how they would leave.  The Gulfstream was still in Kohro.  They’d left instructions for Colonel Karlsen to get Elsa’s staff to the embassy.  Otherwise, they might be taken into custody as soon as Mwenye figured out that Elsa was gone.

Revel just stood there for a few minutes, deep in thought.  They could stay at the Arendelle consulate here in Kivu, which would be more secure and more discreet than trying to get a hotel.  He was pretty sure Fitzwilliam and her crew could get them back across the border into MCA as quickly and quietly as they’d gotten them out.  Assuming they were willing to do so.   If not, he might have to call in a few favors from the Swiss.

All of this, of course, presumed that he could even get Elsa to leave the hospital.  Anna was alive, and if not well, at least on her way to recovery.  But the normally logical, rational Elsa was anything but when it came to her little sister.

_Well, Revel, that’s why Her Majesty pays you the big money.  Time to go earn it.  Again.  Beats taking a bullet for her.  I think._

 

*****

 

Fitz found Lockhart sitting on the low wall of a courtyard outside of the hospital’s small cafeteria, staring out toward the horizon, where the first streaks of dawn were just appearing in the sky.  His injured leg, wrapped in a stiff brace, was propped up on a bench in front of him.  Despite the heat and humidity, he was sipping from a steaming cup of coffee.

Lockhart was clearly exhausted, with bags under his eyes and his dark face ashen in the early morning light.  Fitz felt a bit of a jolt at his appearance.  _When did he get so old?_   Though she’d known him for more than a decade - ever since she was a hot-headed cadet training with her first real unit – he’d never seemed to age, just kept doing what he did without ever slowing down, putting many younger men to shame.  Now, though, it seemed as if every single one of his forty-plus years was sitting heavily on his shoulders.   He glanced up at her as he raised a cigarette to his mouth and took a deep drag.

“Thought you quit,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at the cigarette.  She took a seat on the wall next to him.

“I did,” he said, exhaling the smoke.   “Years ago.  But sometimes…”  He shrugged and took another drag.

“Where’d you get them?”

“Bummed them off Big C.”

“Figures.  Here, let me have one.”

Lockhart side-eyed her, then fished a cigarette out of his breast pocket.  He produced a pack of MRE matches and lit it for her. 

They sat in silence for a while, watching the sun start its climb above the horizon.  Fitz took a few half-hearted pulls at her cigarette, then just let it burn down before grinding it out.  She didn’t really care for the nasty, smelly things.  She liked her tobacco cured, hand-rolled, and preferably from Cuba. 

“We need to talk, Bit.”

He side-eyed her again as he stubbed out his cigarette, but said nothing.

“What is going on?  How the hell did you end up back out there with Sefu’s people?  And why?”  Fitz fought to keep her rising frustration out of her voice.  “You were already on thin ice after the last deployment.  Were you even authorized to be there?” 

Still he said nothing, just lit another cigarette and blew out a long stream of smoke.

“And you dragged Lieutenant Arendelle along with you.  Or should I say Princess Anna, the Crown Princess of Arendelle?  She could have been killed, Bit, and it would be on your head!  How could you be so goddamned stupid?”

He finally looked at her, his dark eyes hard and angry.  “Don’t you talk to me like that, _Major_ Fitzwilliam.  You know better than to second-guess decisions being made on the ground, especially when you don’t you don’t know what the fuck is going on.  I followed _her_ out into the jungle, because Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess Anna, Duchess of Froststal, whateverthefuck the rest of her titles are, is just like another reckless junior officer I remember fishing out of some deep shit.  More than once, I might add.”  He glared at her, daring her to deny it.

Fitz cringed, a hot flush spreading across her face as memories flooded back, or at least memories that weren’t completely clouded by booze.  Illegal drag races and pub brawls in Fayetteville.  Bit half-carrying her through Bangkok after a wild night when she got mickied and rolled by a prostitute, and nearly missed her redeployment.  Lockhart had pulled her from more than one scrape fueled by alcohol, poor judgement, or her own damned arrogance. 

Lockhart smirked a bit, as if reading her thoughts.  “I seem to recall an incident where that junior officer disobeyed a direct order from a full bird colonel, then called him a ‘chickenshit sonofabitch’ and dared him to court-martial her.”

“Well, he didn’t court-martial me, did he?” Fitz muttered defiantly.  That colonel _had_ been a chickenshit sonofabitch.  He refused to authorize a rescue flight for a downed crew deep in the Hindu Kush because _the weather is not conducive to flight operations at this time_ , ignoring the fact that the crew would be dead by the time the weather cleared off.  Second Lieutenant Fitzwilliam, sporting shiny new aviator wings and brimming with the confidence that came with them, had commandeered a Blackhawk and gone to get them anyway.

 “No, he didn’t.  Because you were right, he was wrong, and he knew it.  But he really wanted to.” 

_Especially after I nearly got us all killed flying through that storm.  But we didn’t die, and I got the DFC instead of a court-martial._

Lockhart ground out his cigarette.  “Damned things’ll kill you.  Look, Fitz, Lieutenant Arendelle wants to do the right thing.  But they were blowing smoke up her ass, and she decided to check things out for herself.  I couldn’t let her go alone – she would’ve gotten herself killed.” 

_And you saw an opportunity to get us off the fence.  You’re hardly the simple grunt you tell everyone you are._   Fitz sighed.  “I get it, Bit, I really do.  Even so, that doesn’t change the fact that you revealed a highly classified operation to a foreign officer.  And not just any officer, but the heir to the throne, one of the most powerful people in her country.  Do have any idea how much trouble you’re in?  You could spend the rest of your life in Leavenworth!”

The look he gave her told her that he was well aware of the possible consequences.  “I did what I thought was necessary.”

_Some things never change_.  Well, she didn’t disagree with him.  As a serving officer, Fitz tried very hard to stay apolitical.  But her government’s attempt at hitting from both sides of the plate in Muscovian Central Africa was political gamesmanship at its worst, and it sickened her.  They either needed to be in or out, and after seeing the human toll of Mwenye’s rule, Fitz was on the side of in.

Hell, maybe an idealistic lieutenant who also happened to be a princess was exactly the disruptor that they needed.

 


	15. The Americans Want What? pt 14 or Beware of Soldiers Bearing Gifts

“ – and President Imanovajov asked me to convey his most profound personal gratitude as well, Your Highness.” 

The Muscovian Ambassador to Kivu gave Anna a slight bow, then with a nervous glance at the glowering Marshmallow, stepped forward and slipped a medal around her neck.

“I’m honored, Ambassador,” Anna murmured as she eyed the glittering platter now resting on her chest.

The ambassador rambled on, extending an invitation from Imanutjob to visit the Muscovian capital when she recovered from her injuries.  Anna smiled and nodded, automatically spewing the correct platitudes.  Finally the ambassador left, escorted by Marshmallow, and Anna sagged back against the pillows. 

_I’m not sure if I should feel honored or insulted_.  She fingered the medal with bemusement.  It was huge, the size of a salad plate, silver with the golden crest of the Republic of Muscovia in the center, hanging from a red ribbon several inches wide.  Anna pinged it with her fingernail.  _Well, it certainly doesn’t match the 8000 salad plates we already have._

She segued to a more a serious thought.  The Order of Saint Alexis and Saint Anton, awarded to Second Lieutenant Anna Arendelle for the rescue of a Muscovian officer at great risk to her own life, at least according to the citation that accompanied it.  But did the rescue of a single Musco captain, even if he was a relative of the president, merit this kind of award?  After all, she wasn’t the only one involved.  Would Lockhart receive one as well?  Or the American Blackhawk crew?  If it was just her, what was Imanutjob’s motive for giving it to her?  From what she knew of him, the man never did anything without a purpose, and Anna pondered for a moment what his purpose in awarding her a big-ass medal could be. 

_He wants something.  I just wish I knew what it was._

Funny how their ambassador managed to be here on a morning that Elsa was working out of the Arendelle consulate instead of Anna’s hospital room.  He’d been accompanied only by an aide.  No press, not even an official photographer.  Vasilek himself wasn’t even there.  He’d apparently been sent home already.  Anna wondered if the Muscovians had even told Elsa that they were giving her a medal.

Well, at least it had broken the monotony a little.  After more than a week in the hospital, Anna was about to go stir-crazy.  Her body still hurt all over and she slept a lot, but was bored out of her skull when she was awake.  Her pain meds had been reduced enough that her mind was clear, and she was not dealing well with the forced inactivity.  Once convinced that Anna would recover, Elsa was in and out more - taking care of Queen-things, Anna supposed - and was often working when she was there.  Entertainment options were limited.  There was no TV, no internet, her phone was long since lost in the jungle, and the two non-Swahili newspapers available (one in English, one in French) only occupied her for about an hour a day.  And that was if she read all the classified ads.  Revel had scrounged up a couple of books, but the four walls of the room were closing in fast.

Not that she hadn’t tried to do some other things.  Like walk around the room or sit in the chair by the small window.  But between the hospital staff hovering and Elsa’s constant worry, she had been pretty much confined to the bed, at least when her sister was there.  A few days before, Elsa had caught her trying to use the bathroom instead of the bedpan, and recalling her sister’s mixture of fury and tears still made Anna cringe.

_Just ‘cause I was kinda stuck in there is no reason for Snow-mageddon.  Who knew getting up from the john was so hard on the core?_

After that episode, the nurses allowed her to start taking short walks.  Although walking up and down a hospital corridor in a gown that left her ass flapping in the breeze while rolling her IV rack along was…problematic.  Especially with a bodyguard trailing behind her.  She’d made them start walking in front her of after catching one of the Blackhawk pilots, a tall, loose-limbed lieutenant named Archie, staring at her backside with open appreciation.

At least Elsa hadn’t caught him looking.  Anna could only imagine how that might end.  Her sister was already peeved about the crocus tattoo she’d seen through the flap in the gown.

_You have a tattoo of the Royal Crocus on your_ butt _?!_ Elsa’s indignant outcry had probably echoed all the way back to Arendelle.

Well, technically it was on her hip, but there was no point in arguing.  Besides, it wasn’t like anyone was going to see it. Well, not _just_ anyone, anyway.   Anna had Revel find some shorts for her, which solved the problem of the tattoo, if not the staring.  Archie was kind of cute, though, with his languid drawl and easy smile.  Too bad she was going to be out of commission for a while.

Sergeant Kawaguchi, the petite gunner from the Blackhawk crew, stuck her head in the door.  Her dark eyes widened at the sight of the huge medal around Anna’s neck, but she only said, “Do you need anything, ma’am?”

“Some company would be nice,” Anna said.  “Cards?”  The American soldiers had taught her to play poker, much to Elsa’s frosty disapproval.  Anna was abysmal at it, but it was fun.

Kawaguchi looked apologetic.  “I can’t, ma’am.  Mr. Marshall went to go call in, so it’s just me out here.  But I do have this if you want.”  She crossed to the bed and handed Anna a newspaper.

“The Stars and Stripes?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kawaguchi said with a grin.  “Yesterday’s News Tomorrow.”

Anna laughed, then clutched at her side.  Real laughter was going to hurt for a while.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Kawaguchi apologized before withdrawing and closing the door.

Anna sighed and opened the newspaper.  There was a bit of international news, nothing she hadn’t already read about.  No mention of the talks in MCA, or the attack on Neema’s camp, or Anna’s injuries.  She wondered if anyone outside the people actually involved even knew anything.  The talks hadn’t been publicized, but they weren’t exactly a _secret_ either. 

As far as Anna could tell, the only real secret was that the Americans went into support talks with Mwenye’s government while sending in Green Berets to train the rebels that wanted to overthrow him.  Were they just playing both sides while they try to figure out who had the upper hand?  She pinched the bridge of her nose, the twisty thinking giving her a headache.

_That’s Elsa’s job, not yours, thank God.  Long live the Queen, and please have lots of kids, Sis, because I sure don’t want the job._

She flipped through the rest of the paper.  There was a crossword puzzle, but she didn’t have a pen.  She thought about calling out to Kawaguchi for one, but her head was starting to hurt.  She folded the paper and put it on the bedside table.  Maybe later.

She wondered what Lockhart was doing.  What had happened to his knee?  Was he still here, or had he been sent home?  If he was still here, why hadn’t he visited her?  After everything they’d been through, couldn’t he at least have come to say goodbye?

_Well, I guess I can always get Revel check up on him for me._

Before she could sink completely into the quicksand of ‘I-feel-sorry-for-me,’ there was a knock at the door.  Kawaguchi opened it and said, “Are you feeling up to a couple of visitors, ma’am?”

Anna perked up when she saw Lockhart looming over Kawaguchi’s shoulder.  “Sure!”

“Hey, LT.”  Lockhart crutched into the room, followed by a tall woman in a flight suit and Nomex jacket.  “You look a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

“God, I hope so.”  Anna extended her hand, and it disappeared inside his.  The emotion that welled in her chest surprised her.  “It’s good to see you, Sergeant Lockhart.”

His grip on her hand bordered on painful.  “You too, LT,” he said, his voice a little rough.  He gave her hand a final squeeze and cleared his throat.  “This is Major Fitzwilliam, commander of Charlie Company, Third SOAR.  Major Fitzwilliam, Lieutenant Arendelle.”

Major Fitzwilliam, a striking woman who wore her dark brown hair in a tight bun, stood ramrod-straight at the foot of the bed.  Her sharp hazel eyes swept over Anna before she stepped forward and shook Anna’s outstretched hand.

“A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Anna said, trying not to wince.  Fitzwilliam’s grip was almost as strong as Lockhart’s.  “Thanks for the rescue.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Fitzwilliam said.  “And thank _you_ , for providing a couple of my more interesting flights recently.”  She chuckled.  “You know, most people who jump out of my bird at least use a fast rope.  Or a parachute.” 

“Well, I do like to try new things, ma’am.”

Those sharp eyes swept over her again.  Anna fought the urge to squirm under the appraising gaze, wondering if the major found her lacking.  Then Fitzwilliam laughed.  “Please, call me Fitz.”

Anna had the strange feeling that she had just passed some sort of test.

She turned to Lockhart, who was sitting in the chair by the window.  His right leg, encased in a stiff knee brace, stuck awkwardly out in front of him.  “How’s the knee?”

Lockhart grimaced.  “Torn ACL.  Surgery when I get back to Germany.”

“Which is when?”

“Not sure yet.”

“Oh.”  Anna pushed her hair behind her ear.  “I thought maybe…when I didn’t see you…you know…maybe you’d already gone?”

Lockhart and Fitz exchanged glances, then Lockhart grinned.  “No, still a few things to be worked out before I can leave.  But we heard you were bored, and thought we’d come provide some relief.”

“Complete with libations,” Fitz said.

Anna realized that Fitz was carrying a cooler, which clinked suspiciously when she set it down.  It looked very much like a medical cooler; in fact, Anna swore she saw a red cross on the side of it, not quite covered by what appeared to be a fresh coat of paint.  “Is that what I think it is?”

“I don’t know, LT,” Lockhart said with an expression of profound innocence.  “What do you think it is?”

Fitz confirmed Anna’s suspicions by opening the cooler and pulling out two bottles. She opened them with a multitool, then gave one to Lockhart. 

“Ahhhh…” Lockhart sighed after taking a big pull.  “Nyati Bia, best beer in Kivu.”

Fitz tapped her bottle against his.  “Nyati Bia, _only_ beer in Kivu.”

“Could I…?”  Anna looked longingly at the cooler.  

“Alcohol is contraindicated for a patient in your condition,” Fitz intoned, her face grave, but her eyes full of mischief.

“Besides, LT, I think you have to be at least sixteen,” Lockhart added.

“I’m twenty-two!” Anna pouted. 

Lockhart and Fitz laughed.  “Tough to say ‘no’ to that face,” Lockhart chuckled. 

“I think I can manage it,” Fitz said dryly, taking another pull from her beer.  She not-so-discreetly nudged the cooler further from the bed. 

Anna crossed her arms and sulked.

“So I heard the Musco ambassador was here earlier,” Lockhart said.

“Yeah,” Anna said, touching the medal that still hung around her neck.

“The Order of Saint Alexis and Saint Anton,” Fitz said, pointing her beer bottle at the huge medal.  “You know, the Muscos give out medals like gold stars in a kindergarten class, but they’re pretty picky about that one.  What did you do?”

“Well, Ambassador Whats-his-nov said it was for rescuing Captain Vasilek.  Apparently he’s related to Imanutjob – ”

“ _Imanutjob_?” Fitz asked.

“Sorry, President Imanovajov – ”

Fitz snorted beer up her nose and choked.  Lockhart guffawed.  “That’s priceless, LT,” he said as he pounded Fitz on the back.

Anna smirked.  “Yeah, Vasilek is his nephew, his favorite sister’s son, or something like that.  So I got the medal for saving him.  That’s what the ambassador said, anyway.  Which might be partly true.  But I suspect what Imanutjob really wants is to get into my pants.  Or Elsa’s, more likely.”

Fitz coughed one last time.  “I suspect you’re right.”

“Makes me wonder what Vasilek was doing here, though.  I mean, if your uncle is the president, how do you end up getting sent to a backwater posting like MCA?  Most high-ranking Muscovians wouldn’t let their kids anywhere near a place like this.”

“Maybe he feels the need to actually serve his country, rather than just going through the motions,” Lockhart said, giving her a pointed look.  Anna flushed.  He leaned forward to examine the medal more closely.  Anna slipped it off and handed it to him.  “This is pretty impressive.  You know, Fitz, if we take it downtown, we could probably use it to rent some really interesting feminine companionship.”

Fitz looked affronted.  “Excuse me, but I am a _Nightstalker_.  Nightstalkers do not pay for feminine companionship. We provide a service.”  She winked at Anna.  “But nor do we accept post-coital gratuities.  A simple round of applause will suffice.”

Anna giggled.  Lockhart rolled his eyes.

“But, by all means, proceed,” Fitz continued.  “I’m sure Lieutenant Arendelle will let you borrow it.  All of the Kibombo maidens will be clamoring for your attention.”

“Screw you, Fitz,” Lockhart said amiably.

“Not in your wildest fantasies.”

“And you’re not using my new salad plate to get into a titty bar,” Anna added, taking the medal and slipping it back around her neck.  “Get your own.”

“Oh, he has plenty of his own, trust me,” Fitz said.  “He needs them to attract feminine companionship.” Lockhart gave her the finger, and she laughed out loud.  “Ask him about the one he got for rescuing some idiot colonel from a cathouse in Bumfuck, Colombia.”   

Lockhart snorted. The two of them exchanged war stories while steadily accumulating a collection of empty beer bottles.  Anna watched them, smiling at their comradery, the type of bond that only soldiers seemed to form with each other.  She hoped that she would have those kinds of friendships one day as well. 

“But seriously, LT, what you did took some pretty big stones,” Lockhart said.  “Not sure I would’ve done it.”

“Hear, hear,” said Fitz, raising her bottle.  “Although I haven’t really decided if it was large stones or a small brain.  Jumping out of a helicopter into an open field of fire, with no rope, no weapon, no cover, you’re lucky you didn’t get your head blown off – ”

“ _What_?”

Anna whipped her head around as a chill blew through the room.  Elsa stood in the doorway, her blue eyes round as saucers. 

Fitz and Lockhart stared at Elsa askance, then scrambled to their feet, sending beer bottles rolling across the floor.  Anna giggled at the utter panic in their expressions.  But she swallowed her laughter when she heard the tell-tale crackle of ice, and found Elsa’s frosty glare leveled at her.

“What. Is. That?” Elsa asked, pointing at the medal.

“Um…the Order of Saint Alexis and Saint Anton?”  _Guess that answers the question about whether or not the Muscos told her._   “A medal?”

“I can see that it’s a medal. It’s a bit hard to miss.  Who gave it to you and what is it _for_?”

“Um…”  So far, Anna had been able to avoid explaining to her sister exactly how she’d gotten wounded.  She shot a glance at Lockhart and Fitz.  How much of their conversation had Elsa heard?

But before she could say anything, the chill dissipated, and Elsa smiled at the two Americans.  A genuine smile, not the Queen-smile she often wore in public. “Major Fitzwilliam, Master Sergeant Lockhart.  It’s good to see you again.  Please, be at ease.”

The two barely relaxed their posture.  “Master Sergeant Lockhart, sit down,” Elsa ordered, a hint of exasperation in her voice. 

Lockhart hesitated, then did as he was ordered, sinking back into his chair with a hint of relief on his face.  Fitz remained standing, though she swayed slightly.  Anna’s eyes flicked to the cluster of empty beer bottles, and she stifled a giggle.  _I’m impressed she can still stand up at all._

“I meant you as well, Major,” Elsa said.

Fitz bowed dramatically from the waist.  “Your Majesty, no.  I could never sit while a lady is standing.”  Without a hint of exertion, she hefted her chair up and over Lockhart, bringing it to rest by Anna’s bed.  “Please, take my seat.”

Anna had to choke back a laugh at the expression on Elsa’s face, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open.  It was an old-fashioned display of courtly manners, and she wondered who had been coaching Fitz in etiquette.  She shot a glance at Lockhart, who was staring at Fitz like she’d just grown a second head.

Elsa recovered quickly and smiled as she settled into the chair.  “Thank you, Major.”

Fitz grinned, then smacked Lockhart on the shoulder and made a ‘get up’ motion.  “We’ll give you two some privacy.  It looks like you have a few things to talk about.”  She gathered up the scattered bottles and put them in the cooler.

“Just a moment, please,” Elsa said, holding up a hand to keep Lockhart in his seat.  “We do have some things to talk about” – she side-eyed Anna – “but I also wanted to thank you for saving my sister’s life.”

“It was a team effort, Your Majesty,” Fitz said.  “But Master Sergeant Lockhart deserves most of the credit.  We just provided a convenient means of escape.”

“And without that, Anna would have died.”  Elsa’s shoulders curled in, and a chill stirred the room.

“Your Majesty, I would rescue a hundred idiot sisters just to see a smile on your face,” Fitz said, flashing a charming smile of her own.

Lockhart had a sudden coughing fit.

“Or maybe just one _royal_ idiot sister,” Fitz amended with a wink.

“Hey, I’m in the room, you know,” Anna sulked.

The combination of Anna’s pout and Fitz’s smile made Elsa chuckle.  “You’re too…” – Elsa fumbled for the word – “…generous, Major.  Hopefully such rescues won’t be necessary in the future.”  She gave Anna a little scowl.  “But I’m afraid I’m going to need to take advantage of your generosity again.”

“Anything I – _we_ – can do, of course.”

“I need to get back to Kohro.  Hopefully as unobtrusively as I left.”

“Not a problem, Your Majesty.  Say the word and we’re there.  And since you’re going to be a frequent flyer with Fitzwilliam Air Service, allow me to outfit you appropriately.”  Fitz stripped off her flight jacket and stepped over to drape it across Elsa’s shoulders.  She cocked her head in appraisal.  “It looks good on you.”

Anna didn’t know whether to gape or giggle at Elsa’s faint blush.  She had never seen anyone so openly flirt with her sister before.  Behind Fitz’s back, Lockhart was making ‘crash and burn’ motions with his hands.  Giggling won out. 

Elsa shot her a poisonous look before turning back to Fitz.  “Major, I couldn’t possibly – ”

“Keep it.  You’ll want something heavier than a t-shirt for the trip back, now that you’re less stressed about your sister.”

“Speaking of that, would it be possible to ride in the _inside_ of the helicopter this time?” Elsa asked.

“Wait, _what_?” Anna exclaimed.  “What do you mean, ‘on the inside’ this time?”

“Certainly,” Fitz said.  “In fact, I’ll leave Archie to babysit the lieutenant here, and you can ride in the co-pilot’s seat.”

“I do not need babysitting!”

“Yes, you do,” Elsa and Lockhart said at the same time.

“The surest sign of a person’s intelligence is how much they agree with you,” Elsa laughed.  “I accept, Major.  That sounds like it could be interesting.” 

Fitz leaned over and reached into the flight jacket’s pocket, plucking out a pair of aviator sunglasses.  She unfolded them and slipped them onto Elsa’s head.  “There.”  Then she bowed and said, “Until we meet again, Your Majesty.”

Lockhart rolled his eyes.  Anna was certain that Fitz would have kissed Elsa’s hand if it had been offered.

Fitz turned to Lockhart.  “Let’s go, Gimpy.” 

She helped him stand and arrange himself on his crutches.  They said goodbye to Anna and left.  They had barely cleared the door when Anna heard Lockhart say, “Fitz, you _know_ she’s out of your league, right?”

“Never say never,” Fitz’s confident voice came back.

Anna burst out laughing as Elsa’s face flamed cherry-red.  “Major Fitzwilliam is quite the charmer, isn’t she?”

Elsa narrowed her eyes.  “We’re not going to talk about that.  We’re going to talk about _this_.”  She tapped the medal, covering it with a light layer of frost.

Anna swallowed.  “What about it?”

“ _All_ about it,” Elsa replied with a raised eyebrow.  “Starting with when you decided to sneak onto that airplane.”

_Busted_.  “Elsa, it was the only way I could – ”

******

Several hours later, Anna found herself wrapped in a bone-crushing hug.  But she had to admire her sister’s self-control.  The snow had only gotten up to her ankles this time.

 


	16. The Americans Want What? pt 15 or Queen to Rook

“Please make yourself comfortable, General,” the young Arendellan Marine said as he ushered General Combs into a large working lounge.  “Can I get anything for you?  Coffee?  Tea?  Something stronger?”

 

“No, thank you,” General Combs said with an uneasy smile.  He eyed the small bar service at the corner of the room.  Tempting, but it was best to get the lay of the land first.

 

“Very well, sir. Ambassador Isaksen will be with you shortly.”  The Marine backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

 

Combs walked over to the window.  The room was on the top floor of the Arendelle Embassy in Kohro, and the window framed a very nice view of the sun setting over the river.  He watched the boat traffic for a few minutes, irritation mingling with his curiosity.  Ambassador Isaksen had refused to say exactly why he wanted to meet, but he’d said that it was urgent.  And now he couldn’t be bothered to show up on time?

 

_He must have learned something more about the Princess._   That was the only reason Combs could think of for the Arendellan ambassador to ask for a meeting, though he thought that he would have already heard if there was news. 

 

He was more curious about Queen Elsa.  His aide had talked to both the station chief and the legal attaché at the US Embassy, and neither of them had learned anything new.  It appeared that most of her staff had left the hotel.  A few of them had been seen coming and going from here at the Arendelle embassy, but there’d been no sign of the Queen herself.  Her plane was still in a private hangar at the airport, guarded by a squad of humorless Arendelle Marines.

 

Combs grunted.   After the dinner meeting at the presidential palace, Queen Elsa had made no further contact with himself or President Mwenye.  It had been over a week, and no one was sure what she was doing, or if she was even still in the country.  It was more than a little strange.  Heads of state, even for countries as small as Arendelle, didn’t just drop off the radar completely.

 

Of course, Mwenye had handled the meeting poorly, disparaging Princess Anna and openly ogling Queen Elsa.  _He’s nothing but a vulgar pig_ , Combs remembered with disgust.  The young queen had handled herself admirably, despite her distress over her sister.  Combs had half-hoped that Mwenye would make an overt move.  He’d heard about the queen’s arrival at the airport, the way she had neutralized the security team’s weapons, and he was curious to see her abilities for himself.

 

_Quite a poised young woman.  Mwenye underestimates her at his peril.  Sending her sister instead of an experienced diplomat made him think he had the upper hand._

 

He turned his attention back to the river.  Movement above the surface caught his attention.  As he watched, a helicopter banked toward the shore, heading in his direction.

 

_Is that one of ours?_   Combs blinked and looked again.  Sure enough, the distinctive outline of a Blackhawk helicopter was briefly silhouetted against the setting sun.  As it drew closer, he could see the sensor bulges on the chopper’s nose and chin.

 

Not just a Blackhawk, but a SOAR Blackhawk. _What the hell?_  

 

He knew that a SOAR unit in neighboring Kivu was supporting A-teams throughout the region, but their operations were highly classified.  Yet here was one of their choppers, flying directly into the capital city of Muscovian Central Africa.  It wasn’t exactly broad daylight, but it was in full view of anyone who cared to look up.

 

He lost track of the chopper as it swooped directly over the embassy building.  Where the hell was it going?

 

Combs nervously swept a hand over his bald pate.  He had no instructions regarding the SOAR aviators or the Special Forces team in Muscovian Central Africa.  He knew they were there, knew the basics of why they were there, but that was it.  They had no involvement in his delegation’s mission, and it didn’t factor in to the negotiations.  He had no control over them.  Still, as the senior officer in-country, he should have been notified about any American military flight.  Given the secrecy surrounding their presence, there was no way it was authorized.

 

Then again, the special ops guys rarely sought authorization for anything.  They just did stuff, for better or worse.  Most of the time for worse, to Combs’ way of thinking.  There was no reason for that chopper to be in Kohro.

 

_Unless it has something to do with the attack on the rebel camp that Mwenye was posturing about.  The SF team was there.  But surely there was no need for them to come here._

 

Before he could pursue that thought, the conference room door opened, and Ambassador Isaksen stepped in.  _Finally!_   But instead of greeting Combs, Isaksen just held the door for a young blonde woman in jeans and a Nomex flight jacket.  The ambassador and the woman spoke to each other in a language he assumed was Norwegian.

 

For one surreal second, Combs wondered if Isaksen had brought his _daughter_ to a diplomatic meeting.  “Mister Ambassador, with all due respect, what in the - ?”  Combs broke off when the woman turned and the clear blue eyes of Queen Elsa of Arendelle peered at him over a pair of aviator sunglasses.

 

“General Combs.  Thank you for coming.  I appreciate your patience.”  The Queen took a seat on the small sofa in the center of the room and gestured at the chair across from her.

 

Combs obeyed automatically, trying not to stare.  The girl seated across from him looked more like a college student than a queen, with her hair in a long braid, loose strands falling around her face.  In fact, she reminded him a bit of his own daughter, who had just started her third year at the University of Virginia.  It was hard to believe that someone so young was in charge of an entire country, even one as small as Arendelle.

 

He suppressed a snort as he thought of Princess Anna, and wondered if there were any grown-ups at the top of Arendelle’s government.

 

Queen Elsa’s mouth quirked in a slight smirk, as though she knew what he was thinking.  She pushed the sunglasses to the top of her head, pinning the loose hair back from her face.  “I apologize for my appearance, General, but the Blackhawk helicopter wasn’t really designed with the comfort of passengers in mind.”

 

“Your Majesty?”

 

“Then again,” she went on, “at least I was actually in a seat this time, instead of on a bench with my legs dangling out.”

 

Combs gaped at her.  Had American special ops helicopters actually been ferrying around a foreign head of state?  His eyes fell to a patch on her jacket, depicting a sword-wielding Pegasus over the words ‘Night Stalkers.’  The nametag opposite the patch read ‘Fitzwilliam’.”

 

_Apparently they have.  What in the hell were they thinking?  And General Fitz’s daughter?  She should know better –_

 

Queen Elsa turned to an aide who had slipped quietly into the room behind her.  “Eva, would you get us some coffee, please?  Extra strength?”

 

Eva brought a coffee service and poured for both of them.  Combs’ eyes widened a bit when she added a splash of cognac to the Queen’s cup. 

 

“A small indulgence after a long week,” Queen Elsa said, sipping her coffee. 

 

Combs shook his head when Eva offered the cognac.  She placed the bottle on the coffee table with the service and slipped out of the room.

 

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here,” the Queen said, all business now.  “There are several reasons, the first being to inform you that Princess Anna has been found.”

 

“So she got out of the plane before it went down.  That’s good news, Your Majesty.”

 

“Yes, it is.  What is not good, however, is her physical condition.”  Her face hardened, and the room’s temperature took a noticeable dip.  The coffee cup shook a bit as she took a sip.  “She is in hospital, suffering from a gunshot wound and a number of other injuries sustained when the MCA Army attacked the rebel camp over near the Kivu border.”

 

“What?” Combs exclaimed.  “How - ?”

 

“My sister is a bit…impulsive.  A trait that has caused our family no shortage of distress over the years.  But she is a royal, and has developed a fairly keen – how do you Americans put it? – bullshit detector?  You, and President Mwenye and the others, thought she was nothing but a dilettante, a foolish young girl playing at being a soldier.”

She looked at him over the rim of her cup, her piercing blue gaze daring him to contradict her.  When he said nothing, she carefully placed the cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of her. 

“That’s why she was on that plane, General.  Because she knew she wasn’t getting the whole picture.  How could she be expected to make sound decisions when she didn’t have all the information?  So in her inimitable Anna way, she decided to go look for herself and see just what it was that Mwenye was trying to hide."

Combs kept his expression carefully neutral.  Apparently Princess Anna wasn’t as naïve as he’d thought.  “Why did she take Master Sergeant Lockhart with her?”

“Oh, she didn’t _take_ him.  He figured out what she was up to and followed along.” She shuddered, and the temperature dropped again.  “He was the one who got her out of the plane when it was shot down, and for that, I am forever in his debt.”

“Sergeant Lockhart is a Special Forces soldier, and by definition, that makes him a resourceful fellow,” Combs said.  “I’m glad he was there, for the Princess’ sake.”  _Even though I still have no idea why he came here in the first place._  

That mystery still ate at Combs.  Lockhart had just gotten on the plane in Germany, bearing orders that stated he was on an “assignment of a sensitive nature” for the commander of SOCAFRICA.  He had given no further explanation for his presence, and had made it clear, albeit respectfully, that he was not subject to Combs’ orders.

“He’s not the only American who was there for her,” the Queen said.  “They were picked up in the jungle by a Special Forces A-Team, who took them to the rebel camp.  Interestingly enough, my sister seems to think that the team is there to assist in the training of the CAFM fighters.”

_Oh, shit_.  “Your Majesty, surely Princess Anna is mistaken about who – ”

“Shut. Up.”  The Queen did not raise her voice, but her wintry tone was matched by the room’s plunging temperature.  Combs’ breath fogged in front of him, and he made a concentrated effort not to shiver.  “Your country has been playing these games for too long, straddling the fence and trying to keep your hands clean while waiting to see which side will best serve your interests.”

Combs snapped his mouth shut.  Despite his earlier curiosity, he now had no desire to see Queen Elsa’s abilities unleashed.  _I’m already treading thin ice,_ he thought with grim humor.

“Mwenye and Imanovajov may call the CAFM traitors and terrorists, but I think you know better.  Otherwise, those Special Forces soldiers would not be with them.  Princess Anna has witnessed firsthand the atrocities that Mwenye has visited on his people, aided and abetted by his Muscovian ‘advisors,’ all for the purpose of enriching themselves.”

Combs kept his silence.  Protest and denial were pointless.  The Arendellans were obviously aware of the extent of the American military presence in MCA.

Queen Elsa eyed him for a long moment, then got up and went to the door.  She spoke to someone outside in Norwegian, then returned to her seat and sipped her coffee, obviously waiting for something.

Combs was not sure what to do.  Nothing in his years of experience as an attaché and ambassadorial advisor had prepared him for this.  He was used to dealing with other military diplomats.  Oh, he’d dealt with his fair share of politicians, but the Queen was not a normal politician.  She didn’t have to be, since technically she didn’t have to answer to her people.  That gave the whole situation an air of unpredictability that he didn’t like.

He had just started to speak when the door opened.  An attractive Central African woman walked in, wearing a traditional dress and headscarf with bright geometric patterns.  Despite her youth, her demeanor was dignified and her eyes grave.  She looked vaguely familiar, but Combs could not quite place her. 

The woman joined Queen Elsa on the sofa.  “Thank you for inviting me, Your Majesty,” she said.

The Queen nodded and said, “General Combs, may I introduce Ms. Neema Sefu, leader of the Central African Freedom Movement.  Neema, this is General Combs of the United States Army.”

Neema inclined her head politely.  “General.  I wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I’m afraid that’s not quite true.  And I believe that truth is the most important quality that we can bring to this discussion.  However, I must say that I am indebted to your courageous Special Forces soldiers.”

It took all of Combs’ discipline to keep his jaw hinged.  Whatever it was that he had been expecting when he received Ambassador Isaksen’s invitation, this was far, far from it.  Neema Sefu was the single most wanted individual in Muscovian Central Africa, with an enormous bounty on her head.  Combs supposed that it was a testament to her leadership that no one in her desperate country had turned her in.

“Neema is here under my protection,” Queen Elsa said, as though reading his thoughts.

Combs met her eyes and said, “Your Majesty, I’m not sure what it is that you expect from me.”

“It’s not all that difficult, General.  I expect you to work with Ms. Sefu to bring her group into the talks that are taking place between your government, the Muscovians, and the Mwenye regime.” 

“I don’t have the authority to do that.”  The protest was pro forma, almost a reflex, a lame attempt to buy a little time to think.

The Queen did not allow him that time.  “Next to the ambassador, you are the senior representative of the US Government here, are you not?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

 “That means you have extensive influence with the people who do have the authority.  At the very least, I expect you to back the CAFM’s call for free and fair elections, the outcomes of which are to be respected by Mwenye and his kleptocrats.  I expect you to help the Muscovians understand that it is in their interests to go along with this.  In fact, it would be in their best interests for President Imanovajov to encourage Mwenye go into a quiet retirement at a nice dacha somewhere.”

“And if we don’t?”

Queen Elsa cocked an eyebrow at him.  “Then Arendelle will have no choice but to go before the UN and The Hague with the evidence necessary to charge President Mwenye with crimes against humanity.  Evidence gathered by my sister, I might add, with the assistance of American Special Forces soldiers.”

She gave him a grim smile.  “And I’m sure the UN – and President Imanovjov for that matter – would be quite interested in the unauthorized presence of US troops in Muscovian Central Africa.  I believe that constitutes an illegal invasion of a sovereign country.”

Combs just stared at her.

“But of course, Princess Anna would present the evidence, so that little tidbit can remain between us.  Or…not.”

Neema spoke up.  “They might also be interested in the fact that President Mwenye was aware that Princess Anna was on that transport aircraft.  He ordered it shot down.  His own aircraft, with his own soldiers onboard, in an effort to turn international opinion against CAFM.”

“You have proof of this?” Combs asked, although Queen Elsa’s thunderous expression, along with the icy gust that blew through the room, left no doubt that she believed it.

“I do.”  Neema leaned forward.  "General, it is in the interests of your country to be seen as supportive of an oppressed people.  With your help, this country can find a peaceful resolution that will reinforce your self-proclaimed reputation as champions of liberty and justice.  My country is rich in resources and poor in development.  This will put us on a path where economic prosperity is available to more than the thieves in Mwenye's inner circle."  

She gave him a shrewd look.  "Prosperity that will afford business opportunities to those willing to help us.   _Fair_ opportunities, not opportunities to loot a helpless populace."

A pregnant moment of silence followed, then Queen Elsa stood, gesturing to Combs and Neema to remain seated.  "Well, it looks like you’re off to a good start.  I'll just leave you two to discuss this, shall I?"

She walked gracefully out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Combs watched her go.  _What in the world just happened?_   Then he looked across the table at Neema, straightened his back and managed a haggard smile.  "Well, Ms. Sefu, shall we be about it?  I believe that was a royal command and probably shouldn't be ignored, even though my country tossed out its last king a long time ago."

Neema nodded and gave him a small smile. "Indeed, General Combs.  I would hate to disappoint her.  My people deserve peace and prosperity, and I am confident that we can give that to them."

 

 


	17. The Americans Want What? pt 16 or A Little Bit of You, A Little Bit of Me

Anna stormed through Elsa’s outer office, ignoring Aggie’s frantic attempt to stop her. Her elation at being back on duty after two months of convalescent leave – even if it was light garrison duty – had been completely punctured by the memo she gripped in her fist.  And she was certain her sister was responsible for it.

“Anna, wait – ”  Revel reached for her arm.

She shook off his hand and burst into Elsa’s office, pulling up short when a gust of icy air swirled around her.  Four pairs of eyes turned in her direction.

Elsa’s gaze was cold and narrow.  Minister Stenhammer, Ambassador Smithfield, and Eva simply stared at her in bemusement.  A voice with a Muscovian accent came from the speaker of Elsa’s conference phone.

_Oops.  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea_.  She started to leave, but Elsa shook her head and pointed to a chair in front of her desk.  Cringing at her sister’s glare, Anna eased the office door closed and slunk over to the chair, trying to make herself as small as possible.

“Your Majesty, I am certain that further negotiations with _all_ parties would be more productive,” the voice from the phone said.

“All of the affected parties participated in the talks, Mister President,’ Elsa replied.

_Imanutjob_ , Anna realized.

“Not all,” the Muscovian president said.

“Mister President, we have discussed this several times.  President Mwenye chose not to personally participate.  But he did send representatives, who agreed to all of the terms on his behalf.  And now he wants to come back to the table and renegotiate everything?”  Elsa’s voice stayed calm and level even as small ice spikes popped up randomly around the phone.  “Has he had a change of heart, or does he simply want time to gather and deploy more of his mercenaries?”

“I believe you may be mistaken about that – ”

“Oh?”  This time Elsa didn’t bother to keep the frost from her voice.  “I suppose I could be.  I just assumed that the uniformed white men who attacked the CAFM camp with Muscovian weaponry must be mercenaries, because _surely_ they weren’t Muscovian troops.  That would be a violation of the terms of MCA’s independence, which stipulates a limited number of Muscovian officers to work in strictly advisory roles.  But I’m sure you know that.”

A long silence.  Then, “Yes, Your Majesty, I do.  I’m sure that I can help President Mwenye see that the accords as they currently stand are best for all involved.”

“I’m confident of that, Mr.  President.  I look forward to seeing you for the signing.” 

“And I you, Your Majesty.”

Elsa ended the call.  “Thoughts?” she asked.

“Barring objections from any of the others” – Stenhammer side-eyed Ambassador Smithfield – “we should have final wording worked out within the next couple of weeks.”

“Agreed,” Smithfield said.  “I expect there will be some haggling over the exact level of troop commitment, but I don’t see anything that would keep us from moving forward with the signing.”

“And the Nasjonsting?” Elsa asked.  “What is the temperature there?”

“The usual complaints from the usual Councilors about young queens and staying out of the affairs of others.  ‘Arendelle First!’ and all that,” Eva said dryly.  “Unless there are radical changes in the final language, I think it’s an easy pass.”

“Let’s hope that remains true,” Elsa said.  “That will be all for now, gentlemen. Please keep me informed as we move forward.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”  The two men left the office.

“Eva, do I need to call the reluctant councilors?” Elsa asked.

“I suspect their complaints are mostly for show,” Eva said.  “But a phone call from the Queen never hurts.”

“Do I need to frighten them or charm them?”

“I suspect you’ll get your way regardless of your approach,” Eva said with a laugh.

“I usually do,” Elsa said dryly.  “Thank you, Eva.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  Eva shot Anna a sympathetic look before leaving.

Once the door closed behind her, Anna looked at her sister sheepishly.  The righteous indignation she had brought in with her had dissipated.

“Elsa – ” she began.

“Lieutenant Arendelle, is it not customary for officers of the Arendelle military to stand to attention when addressing the Queen?”

Anna’s jaw dropped. 

A chill touched the room.  “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear, Lieutenant.  Stand to attention.”

_Oh shit_.  Anna’s brain belatedly kicked into gear at the steel in the command. She scrambled to her feet.

Elsa studied her while she stood at rigid attention in front of the massive desk.  Several long, uncomfortable moments passed.  Despite the icy nip in the air, sweat ran down between Anna’s shoulder blades. 

“Now. I trust you have good reason for barging into my office in the middle of a delicate diplomatic phone call, especially when I left explicit orders with Aggie that it was not to be interrupted.”

Anna felt a little frisson of fear.  Pissing off her sister was one thing, but this...was this how it felt to earn the displeasure of the Queen?  She swallowed hard.  “Permission to approach, Your Majesty?”

“Granted.”

Anna stepped forward and placed the offending paper on the desk, then returned to attention.  Elsa picked it up and read it.

“A letter of reprimand for the display of extreme poor judgment.”  Elsa raised her cool gaze to Anna’s face.

“Permission to speak?”  When Elsa gave a little nod, Anna went on, “I object!”

“This isn’t a courtroom, Lieutenant.”  The Queen quirked one eyebrow.  “What exactly are you objecting to?  Did you or did you not display poor judgment by” – she glanced down at the paper – “’overstepping the bounds of your assigned mandate and placing the outcome of your mission in jeopardy’?”

“I object to getting a letter of reprimand for worrying my sister!”

“Ah.  So you think I’m responsible for this?”

“Aren’t you?” Anna demanded.

Elsa placed the paper back on the desk and folded her hands on top on it.  “Lieutenant Arendelle, I am your sister.  Because of that, Admiral Haldorsen informed me of the letter, as a courtesy.  But I had nothing to do with it, nor would I presume to interfere with discipline within the chain of command.”

Anna met her eyes, surprised.

Elsa continued, “Whether you appreciate it or not, you are being treated as any other serving officer would be.”

“Am I?” Anna challenged.

“Frankly?  No.  I suspect that your status as the Crown Princess is the reason that you received a letter of reprimand rather than something more severe.”  Anger flashed in Elsa’s eyes, but she kept her face impassive.  “You have told me repeatedly not to interfere in your military career, and now you’re upset that I haven’t?  You cannot tell me to stay out of it, and then expect me to run interference when you screw up.”

“But I didn’t!  Screw up, I mean.”

“This letter says otherwise.”

“But it worked!”

“That’s not what this letter is about.  The outcome is a separate issue, and that is not what is being addressed here.”

Anna stared in disbelief.  “I don’t understand.  Why am I being disciplined when what I did worked?  Isn’t accomplishment of the mission the most important part?”

“Your actions changed the inherent nature of your mission.  And you still miss the point.  The military cannot maintain discipline if its officers don’t follow orders and instead decide to – what’s that Americanism that Revel uses?  Go rogue?”

Anna said nothing, her fists clenching at her sides as her throat tightened and tears stung her eyes.  She would not let Elsa see her cry over this.  The satisfaction and pride she felt over her role in Muscovian Central Africa’s change of direction seeped away. 

_Even when I don’t screw up, I still screw up._   She blinked back the tears and kept her eyes locked on the window behind Elsa’s chair.

“Be at ease, Lieutenant.”  When Anna did not relax her posture, Elsa said, “Anna. Sit,” with a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Anna lowered her gaze to meet Elsa’s.  “I prefer to stand, thank you, _Your_ _Majesty_.” 

Hurt flickered across Elsa’s face, a small fracture in her impassive mask.  She recovered quickly, but Anna still felt a sharp stab of guilt, which she quickly squashed.

Elsa sighed.  “Anna, I am your sister, but I am also your Queen.  It’s going to take some time to figure out how to navigate this part of our relationship.  As if it weren’t complicated enough already.”

“It only seems to be complicated for you, Your Majesty.”

Another brief break in the queenly mask, and the temperature dipped.  Then Elsa said, “If that is all, Lieutenant, then I have other business that needs my attention.  If you wish to appeal your letter of reprimand, I suggest you do so through established channels, just like any other officer.”

There was a slight emphasis on her last words, and Anna stiffened even more.  “Permission to withdraw, Your Majesty?” she ground out through clenched teeth.

Elsa waved her hand in dismissal.  Anna about-faced and fled the office as quickly as decorum would allow.  She barely managed to reach her bedroom before the tears came.

When she regained her composure, Anna packed her duffel bag and left the Castle.  She had an apartment assigned to her over at the garrison’s junior officers quarters.  Perhaps it was time for her to move out on her own.

 

*****

 

Gerda walked down the hallway of the residence wing of Arendelle Castle, headed for the Queen’s Chambers.  She always checked to see if Queen Elsa wanted tea (often) or a brandy (occasionally) before she went to bed.  But she would also make sure that Elsa actually went to bed at a reasonable hour.  The queen rarely took any time for herself, and if Gerda didn’t nag her, she would often work into the wee hours of the morning.

_It’s harder to get her to go to bed now than it was when she was a child._

She paused outside Princess Anna’s room, frowning at the light coming from under the closed door.  _I thought Anna moved to the garrison.  Did she change her mind?_

She knocked lightly on the door.  “Your Highness?”

No answer.  Gerda reached for the door handle, then jerked her hand back; the brass handle was freezing cold.  _What in the world…?_   She pushed the door open and gasped at the arctic air that greeted her.

Elsa sat on Anna’s bed, face buried in her hands.  Frost covered the linens, the headboard, and the wall above.

“Your Majesty?”  Elsa lifted her tear-streaked face. “Elsa, what’s wrong?”

“She’s gone.”  Snowflakes swirled around the distraught queen.  “She left.  She didn’t even tell me.”

“Oh, honey.”  Gerda crossed to the bed and wrapped Elsa in a hug.

“I can’t be a good sister,” Elsa sobbed.  “I almost lost her already, I can’t lose her again, but she doesn’t listen to me, she’s never listened to me, she’s going to kill herself if she doesn’t learn, and why is this so _hard_?”  She buried her face in Gerda’s neck.

“Oh, my precious girl.”  Gerda stroked Elsa’s hair and back.  “You were only eighteen when you lost your parents, God rest their souls.  You were thrust into your role as queen much too early, and just didn’t have a lot left to be a big sister to Anna.  It’s not your fault.  Being the queen _and_ a surrogate parent was too much to ask of someone who was barely more than a child herself.”

“Maybe I couldn’t be a parent, but I could have at least been a good sister.  Oh Gerda, what if she doesn’t come back?”

“She’ll come around, honey.  I think she’s still trying to figure out who she’s supposed to be, but she loves you.”  Gerda gave her a squeeze, then said, “Come on, let’s get you to your own room.”

Elsa allowed Gerda to lead her back to her own rooms and help her change into her nightgown.  Gerda tucked her in, much as she had done when Elsa was a child.  Then she sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Elsa’s back.

Once Elsa was asleep, Gerda dropped a kiss on her forehead and slipped out of the room.  Then she went in search of Revel. 

 

*****

 

A few nights later, Anna sat at the officers’ club bar, alone except for the bartender.  When she first joined the army, she had pictured the O-club as a social hub.  Maybe a bit stiff or staid, but still a place where officers gathered after work to share a few drinks and build some comradery.  In reality, very few officers went to the club when off-duty.  The married ones went home, and the single ones went to the bars and clubs in Arendelle City, where there was almost no chance that the brass would be hovering over their shoulders.

Well, at least the ‘stiff or staid’ part still met her expectations.

Anna was also the most junior officer assigned to the Arendelle City garrison, so there weren’t many of her peers around to drink with her anyway.  As part of the Headquarters Company, she was responsible for helping her always-harried company commander, Captain Engen, corral and cajole the colonels and generals of the Defense Ministry into doing their required soldier tasks – taking their PT tests, qualifying with their assigned weapons, going to all the mandatory training classes that seemed to have little bearing on their duties, but were universally beloved by the bureaucracy.  Little wonder that it was least-desired duty station for young officers.

Thank God it was temporary.  Anna wanted to go to flight school.  From the moment Fitz’s Blackhawk roared over Bunker Hill like a great bird of prey, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do more than fly helicopters.  She had requested a transfer to aviation her first day back on duty, after her doctor said there was no reason she wouldn’t be able to pass a flight physical within the next couple of months.

If the fucking letter of reprimand didn’t consign her to headquarters hell for the duration of her career.

_Nope.  Not happening.  I’ll volunteer for guard duty at the Nordfjell Border Outpost before I stay here._

Anna took another swallow of her Brennevin.  Yes, getting away from Arendelle City would be the best thing for her right now, both personally and professionally.  Hopefully her transfer would go through before Elsa found out about it.  After what happened to Mamma and Poppa, she could only imagine her sister’s reaction when she learned that Anna wanted to be a pilot.

Then again, she suspected that Elsa wouldn’t be happy until she was out of the Army completely.

She tossed back the rest of her drink and signaled the bartender for another.

“You know, the last time you drank that much Brennevin, I had to carry you upstairs over one shoulder while you sang ‘Walkin’ on Sunshine’ at the top of your lungs.”

Anna jerked her head around.  Revel was leaning against the bar, grinning at her.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Anna grimaced as the bartender placed another glass in front of her.  Revel slid onto the stool next to hers and ordered a beer.  “Didn’t I throw up on your shoes too?”

“No, Gerda’s shoes.”

“Oh yeah.  I kind of remember that.  She threatened me with her wooden spoon.” The words still echoed in her head – _I don’t care how grown up you think are, young lady, I can still take a wooden spoon to your backside._   Anna squirmed in her seat.  Gerda had broken more than one spoon over her butt when she was growing up. 

“I think Gerda is the only person in Arendelle who can really keep you in line,” Revel chuckled.  “The Army should hire her as a drill sergeant.”  He eyed her with a cocked brow. “Especially since the commander-in-chief seems to be struggling with one of her lieutenants.”

Anna scowled.  “If you’re here to drink with me, then drink with me.  If not, well…I don’t need any more reminders of my shortcomings as a soldier and a sister.”  She took a large gulp of her drink.

“As you wish, Your Highness.”  Revel raised his glass in a sardonic salute.

They sat for a while, drinking and watching the TV above the bar, which showed Arendelle’s national football team playing a first-round match for World Cup qualifying.  The _Krokusen_ were a long shot to qualify, but they were holding their own against the Southern Isles at the moment, the score even at one goal apiece in the seventy-fifth minute.

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me!” Anna yelled when a Southern Isles attacker went down in the box and the ref blew his whistle, signaling for a penalty.  “That was a total dive!”

She and Revel groaned as the Southern Isles player converted his kick, putting Arendelle down by a goal.  Anna pulled out her phone and looked up the team’s schedule.  She would be expected to attend the _Krokusen’s_ home matches if Elsa could not. How much that would interfere with flight school?

She wondered if Elsa would order her to attend.  Not that she didn’t love watching the team play, but the thought of Elsa pulling rank on her over it was irksome.

“You know, you could just ask her,” Revel said.

“What?”

“About the football matches.  Instead of just grousing about it.”

“Great, I’m talking to myself out loud again,” Anna mumbled.

“And that’s different for you how?” Revel asked, laughing when she stuck her tongue out at him.  He drained his glass and set it on the bar.  “I need to go.  I really just wanted to give you a weather report.”

“Wait, a what?”

“A weather report.  For the residence.  Continued snow flurries with a chance of blizzard.”  He pulled on his coat and headed for the door.  “You could probably do something about that if you wanted to, Your Highness,” he threw back over his shoulder.

Anna just stared after him for a few minutes.  Then she pushed her drink away and laid her head on the bar.

_Shitshitshitshitshit._

 

*****

 

A couple of hours later, Anna stood in front of an imposing door with a stylized gold crocus on it. The reflection in the crocus’ gilded surface showed an anxious freckled face chewing its lower lip.    Several times she raised a fist to knock, only to lose her nerve and lower it. 

_Get a grip.  It’s just a bedroom door.  Kinda._

Not just a bedroom door, but the door to the Queen’s Chambers.  Anna could count on one hand the number of times she’d been in these rooms since Mamma and Poppa died.  Elsa had not moved into the suite until her coronation, three years after she first ascended to the throne.  But for Anna, their parents’ ghosts had hovered too close for her to feel comfortable there.

_Maybe Elsa wasn’t the only one who pulled away._

She squashed that thought.  Squaring her shoulders, she rapped twice on the door.

“Come,” Elsa’s voice said from inside.

Anna opened the door and stepped into the suite.  The Queen’s Chambers were larger than many of the apartments in Arendelle City, with a sitting room and a private study along with the bedroom.  Elsa was on the sitting room sofa with her legs curled under her, glasses perched on the end of her nose, reading a document on her tablet.  A news report played on the muted television.

Anna just watched for a moment as Elsa swiped through the document, occasionally making notes with a stylus. Her first thought was: _She works too hard_.  Then with a spark of wry envy: _Only Elsa could make an old sweater and yoga pants look like the height of style._

“Just set it on the table – ” Elsa broke off when she looked up.  “Anna?”

“Hi.”  Anna gave her a little wave, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.  “I…um…I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“No, no, of course not,” Elsa said.  She placed the tablet and her reading glasses onto the coffee table.  “Please, come sit.  I was expecting Gerda with some tea.  I…I could ask her to bring a second setting…if you want some?”

“Sure.”  Anna settled into an overstuffed chair across the table. 

Elsa picked up her phone, but before she could dial, there was another rap at the door.  “Oh, that must be Gerda now.  Come in,” she called.

Gerda came in carrying a tray.  “Good evening, Your Majesty.  And Your Highness.”  She did not look at all surprised to see Anna.  She set the tray on the coffee table.

“Good evening, Gerda,” Elsa said.  “I hate to ask after you’ve brought the tray, but – oh, you have two settings already.”

“I saw Princess Anna skulking in the hallway.  The little pagan isn’t nearly as sneaky as she thinks she is.”  Gerda looked at Anna with a twinkle in her eye.

Anna couldn’t help but grin at the old nickname.  When Anna was a child, Gerda’s constant cry had been “Get _down_ from there, you little pagan”, or “You’ve been stomping mudholes _again_ , you little pagan?”  Elsa had picked up on the nickname and started calling Anna “Pagan” until their horrified mother put a stop to it.  Gerda had continued to use it, though never in Queen Idunn’s presence.

“No, she isn’t,” Elsa said with a look that Anna couldn’t quite read.  “Thank you for the tea, Gerda.”

“My pleasure, Your Majesty.”  Gerda poured for them, then said, “If you don’t need anything else, I’m going to retire for the evening.”

They said their good-nights.  Gerda brushed Anna’s cheek with her fingertips, giving her an affectionate smile before leaving the room.

“You’ve changed things in here,” Anna said as she sugared her tea.  Instead of the soft pastels their mother had preferred, the room was now decorated in muted blues and purples, much like Elsa’s childhood room. 

“You haven’t seen it like this?”  Elsa frowned a little when Anna shook her head.  “Well, you haven’t really been in here much since the coronation.  Not that I’ve been very welcoming.”  She looked down at her tea.

“Elsa – ”

“I should have asked you before I changed it, they were your parents too.”

“Elsa, you’re the _Queen_.  These are your chambers, your private space.  You had every right to change them.  I was just surprised it took you so long to do it.  Why didn’t you move in when you first became queen?”

“I…I didn’t want to.  The memories were too…raw, I guess.  And it didn’t really sink in that I was Queen until the coronation.  While I was in Regency, I could pretend that I was still a kid, just playing at being Queen.  But then….”  She sighed.  “Well, it was expected.  And convenient, with the study and the phones and the books and everything else.  I changed it so it didn’t remind me quite so much of them.”

Anna’s heart ached at the mental image of eighteen-year-old Elsa, becoming an orphan and a queen on the same day.  Yes, Anna had lost her parents too, but she’d had the luxury of grief.  Elsa hadn’t.  _When I was eighteen, I could hardly find my own way to the bathroom, much less run a country_.  Yet somehow Elsa had not only coped, but risen to the occasion, becoming a capable and beloved queen, and a respected international figure.

_All I’ve done is make her life harder with all my shenanigans._   The sudden lump in her throat threatened to choke her.

“Elsa, I’m so sorry about what happened the other day.”  Anna kept her eyes on her lap, trying to hide the tears that threatened to spill over.  “I was really rude and disrespectful and you were right to stand me tall, I was so sure you behind that letter, and I just keep screwing things up and making a huge mess of everything, and – ”

“Anna.”  Elsa cut her off with a firm voice that was belied by her soft smile.  “You’re my sister and my heir and also one of my officers.  It’s complicated.  It will take us some time to figure it all out.”  She dropped her eyes to her wringing hands.  “And I haven’t really been that great a sister to you.”  A light sheen of frost spread over the sofa cushions.

Anna put her teacup down and went around to the sofa, pulling Elsa into a hug.  “Hey.  No one could ask for a better sister than you.  I mean, how many big sisters can do on-demand snow cones and turn the courtyard into an ice rink?”

“Anna, I let you go off someplace where you nearly got killed  – ”

“No, you let me do something that was really important. You trusted me with our country’s reputation, with _your_ credibility as Queen, because your little sister needed that.  And when I got in trouble, you came after me.”  Anna held Elsa’s shoulders and looked directly into her eyes.  “ _You_ came.  You could have sent Revel or someone else to fetch me, but you came yourself.  As my sister, not as the Queen.  And you did something pretty crazy to get there.  Do you know how much that meant to me?”

Tears spilled onto Elsa’s cheeks. Anna wrapped her in a tight hug.  “I love you, Elsa.”

“I love you too.  So much.”  Elsa’s arms tightened around her until she almost couldn’t breathe.  Then she pulled back and gave Anna a little smile.  “Even if you do give me heart attacks and headaches.”

“I think of it as part of my Royal duties,” Anna said with a smirk.  “I have to take care of the fun for both of us, because God knows you don’t ever have any.”

“No?”

Anna’s only warning was the slight flick of her sister’s fingers.

“Shit!”  She launched off the sofa when a big snowball hit the back of her neck and slid down under her collar. 

“Language, please,” Elsa said with a mischievous quirk of her brow.

“Cold, cold, cold, cold!”  Anna danced around as the snow ran down her back.  She flapped the hem of her shirt and a slushy chunk fell out.  She whirled on Elsa only to catch a handful of snow in her face.

“Well, this is fun,” Elsa giggled.

“Hey, no fair, you can’t put ice _there_!” Anna screeched as frost formed in a place completely unexpected.  “Okay, okay, I give!”

Elsa let her dance around for a few more moments before taking pity and waving the snow away.  Anna flopped back onto the sofa with a sigh of relief.  Elsa watched her with an impish smile.  Anna felt a pang of nostalgia, remembering a time when her sister wore that smile often.  When Elsa had been a playful scamp who froze their nanny’s underwear and turned the Great Hall into a winter wonderland in the middle of the summer.

“Can we do a sleepover?” Anna asked.  “Like we did when we were little?”

“You mean when we stayed up all night watching forbidden TV shows and stuffing ourselves on chocolate and pastries until we were sick?”

“Yes, exactly that.”

Elsa grinned.  “That sounds like fun.  Did you bring your things back from the officer’s billets?”

Anna looked away, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.  “No.”

“Why not?”

“I…um…”  Anna fidgeted, then finally met her sister’s eyes.  “I think I need to live over there.  Start being on my own.”

Elsa said nothing, but the hurt on her face was plain.

“If I’m going to make my own way, I need to be separate from here.  That’s the only way anyone will take me seriously.”  She sighed.  “I’m not sure I’m explaining this right, but I need to know if I can be good at this because I’m me, not because I’m the Queen’s sister.  I don’t mean to hurt you, you know that, right?”

After a brief hesitation, Elsa nodded.  “I understand.  I won’t say I like it, but I do understand.  I think.”

_Well, that will have to do for now._   Anna grinned and grabbed her sister’s hands.

“Come on,” she said, pulling Elsa toward the door, “Let’s see if we’ve gotten any better at sneaking into the kitchens.”

 


	18. The Americans Want What? pt 17 or Welcome to Arendelle

Bit Lockhart pushed open the door to his Stuttgart apartment, groaning at the sight that greeted him:  dozens of half-filled moving boxes strewn haphazardly, surrounded by stacks of books, magazines, DVDs, and the bric-a-brac collected over the course of this latest assignment.  Though the frequent moves that the Army required kept his pack-rat tendencies mostly in check, Bit inevitably found himself with a lot more _stuff_ when he left a place than he’d had when he moved in.

He loosened his tie and shuffled inside with a grimace.  His stubborn pride had led him to abandon his crutches as soon as he could get around without them.  Now, after two hours standing on the Panzer Kaserne parade field, his surgically repaired knee was singing.

He tossed his service blue jacket onto the couch, then hobbled over to his recliner, sinking into it with a sigh of relief.  Parades weren’t something any soldier really enjoyed doing.  The best thing that could be said about the one he’d just come from was that he’d not actually had to march in it.  All he had done was stand at attention as the units of the Kaserne passed in review.

His last parade. He would never have to do it again.  The knowledge was bittersweet.  Mostly bitter, if he was honest with himself.

He eyed the bottle of scotch on the sideboard.   _I should’ve gotten a drink before I sat down_.  The scotch, an expensive bottle of Laphroaig single-malt, was a gift from Fitz that had come in shortly after she heard the news.  So far he’d managed to not open it, wanting to share the first drink with Fitz whenever he next saw her.  The temptation to get into it now was almost overwhelming.

Instead, he looked down at the items he still held.  In one hand was a folded flag and a certificate stating that Master Sergeant Bilton Edward Lockhart, Junior, ‘having served faithfully and honorably,’ was now retired from the United States Army.  The other was a box containing a Meritorious Service Medal, awarded for ‘exceptional service to his country and the Army for over twenty-four years.’

_In other words, thank you for your twenty-four years of loyal service.  Don’t let the door knob hit you in the ass on the way out._

In a sudden rage, he flung the medal box across the room.  Plaster chips sprayed when it struck the wall under the front window.

 _Shit_.  He wiped a hand over his face, then heaved himself out of the chair to survey the mess.  The corner of the box had left a half-inch dent in the white plaster wall.  He would have to repair it before his landlady did her move-out inspection.  Frau Schmid was a large, formidable woman who held her tenants to exacting standards.  A dent like this would likely cost him a wicked ass-chewing in German along with his entire security deposit.

Not to mention he’d let the flowers in the window box dry up.  That might be his most unforgivable offense.

He fetched a pitcher with water from the kitchen.  The flowers – he had no idea what kind they were – weren’t quite dead, but their blooms sagged in pathetic, wilted clusters.  Pushing the window open, he dumped the water over the plants.  Too little, too late, probably.  Hopefully he could get moved out before Frau Schmid saw them.

His foot bumped the medal box.  He picked it up and dusted it off, then opened it to look at the medal inside.  The small piece of bronze hanging from a red-and-white ribbon didn’t seem to be much of an award for the twenty-four years of his life that he’d given to the Army.  Years that came bundled with ceaseless deployments, multiple combat wounds, an embittered ex-wife, and a teenage daughter who now called another man ‘Dad.’

 _It could be worse_ , he told himself.  _You could be turning big rocks into little rocks at Leavenworth instead of escaping with your retirement pay_. 

He’d barely dodged that fate.  The Pentagon and State Department were putting on a good public face, praising Neema, Mwenye, Imanovajov, and Queen Elsa for “the swift progress toward peace and stability in Central Africa.”  Behind the scenes, though, they were demanding heads.  Bit Lockhart’s was the one they wanted most, followed closely by those of Fitz and her Blackhawk crew. 

The official word was that someone had to atone for Captain Jefferson’s death, but in reality, Fitz told him grimly after yet another draining interview with investigators, Princess Anna had caught the Americans with their pants down.  The head shed burned with embarrassment, and needed somewhere to rest the blame.  Bit’s wide shoulders looked like a good place.  After all, he was the one who had taken the princess on her great adventure. 

_The LT needed to see the real situation in MCA.  I’d do it again.  Except for that part where I let her jump out of the damn helicopter and nearly get herself killed._

In the end, the powers-that-be had decided that it was in the country’s best interest to allow Bit to retire quietly, “in light of the sensitive nature of ongoing negotiations with Muscovian Central Africa.”  Fitz’s crew escaped with no punishment, and Fitz herself received only a letter of reprimand.  She had made her feelings about that clear in her own inimitable Fitz fashion – by crumpling the letter into a ball and hook-shooting it into the trash can on her way out of General Combs’ office.

Still, Bit couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that he at least partly responsible for what happened to Ricky Jefferson.

He snapped the medal box shut and tossed it onto a table with a stack of framed certificates and pictures.  Another medal to add to the shadowbox he had long planned on building, but somehow never had time to put together.  Well, it looked like he would have plenty of time to work on it now.

He stared out the window, resting his hip on the wide sill.  The overcast of the morning had cleared off, and the _brauhaus_ across the street bustled with a lunch crowd out to enjoy what was shaping up to be a spectacular October day.  Bit thought about joining them.  But as tempting as a beer and schnitzel sounded, he knew he was just avoiding facing what lay ahead of him.

The moving boxes mocked him.   _Where are you going to send us?_ they seemed to say. _You have no place to go_.  He did own a house in Fayetteville, right outside of Fort Bragg, but he could hardly toss out his tenants, a young sergeant and his family.  Abrupt retirement had left him with no time to plan for life afterward. 

Not that he’d really tried to plan for it.  Despite the repeated interrogations and signed statements and veiled threats, despite being followed by CID, despite even a short stint under house arrest, he had somehow held onto his faith in the Army, held onto the hope that he would be able to continue his career. 

Sometimes being a good soldier simply wasn’t enough.

 _Jesus, what am I going to do with myself now?_  The Army was all he knew.  He’d gone straight from high school to boot camp, with a vague notion of maybe earning some money to go to college, but mostly to escape a Georgia hometown where not going to college meant working at the local poultry plant.  Soldiering came to him naturally, so he re-upped after his first term and never looked back.

Going back to Georgia held little appeal.  He could probably rent an apartment in Fayetteville until the young sergeant moved on, but he had no desire to become yet another retiree hanging around the Bragg NCO club and bitching about the State of Today’s Army.  Getting a civilian job at the Special Warfare Center on Fort Bragg, as he’d once hoped, now seemed impossible – his security clearance had been pulled as soon as he’d returned from Africa, and it was unlikely to be reinstated.

Or…he could go back to the MCA.  Neema and the CAFM needed all the help they could get, and he would have a chance to do something both useful and meaningful. 

And maybe, just maybe, make Ricky Jefferson’s death mean something.

A knock at the door interrupted his musings.  He opened it to find a small, bird-like man in an immaculate pinstripe suit.  The man’s eyes widened as he looked up at Bit, who stood at least a foot taller. 

“ _Guten Tag_ ,” the man said.  “ _Ich suche Herrn Lockhart_.”

“ _Ich bin Herr Lockhart_.”

The man’s eyebrows shot up, and he switched to English. “My apologies, Mister Lockhart,” he said.  His accent seemed familiar, but Bit could not quite place it.  “I did not realize you were an American.  And a soldier.  My name is Vidar Sandberg, from the Royal Embassy of Arendelle in Berlin.”

That explained why Sandberg’s accent was familiar – he sounded like Revel.  Bit shook the man’s outstretched hand.  “What can I do for you, Mister Sandberg?”  Sandberg handed him an envelope.  Bit stared in disbelief.  “You came all the way from Berlin just to give me this?”

“My understanding is that Her Highness Princess Anna insisted that it be hand-delivered,” Sandberg said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Bit looked down at the cream-colored envelope, which had a stylized golden flower embossed on it.  The Arendelle Royal Crest, he realized.  He slid a finger under the flap, then pulled out a card of heavy stock, in the same cream color as the envelope.

_Her Royal Majesty Queen Elsa of Arendelle cordially invites Master Sergeant Bilton Lockhart to a Reception to celebrate the signing of the Kohro Accords at Arendelle Castle…_

A handwritten note was with the invitation.  Bit smiled as he read it:  _I know we can’t really give you a Royal command to show up, but I really hope you’ll be here! – LT_

“What do I – ” Bit found that he needed to clear his throat.  “How do I respond to this, Mister Sandberg?”

Sandberg discreetly did not mention Bit’s cracking voice.  “There is an RSVP card in there as well, Mister Lockhart.  If you will mark it appropriately, I will be happy to make sure that it is delivered.”

 

*******

 

Lieutenant Colonel M.C. Fitzwilliam stood on a small balcony outside the Grand Ballroom of Arendelle Castle.  It was a beautiful evening – the chilly rains of the past few days had moved off, and the air was clear and crisp.  The full moon hung over the fjord, so close that she felt she could reach out and touch it.  Fitz breathed deeply, relieved to be away from the ballroom with its press of dignitaries and constant murmur of idle chatter.

She settled onto a decorative bench, swearing under her breath as she arranged the skirt of her formal blue mess uniform so it wouldn’t get wrinkled.  She hated skirts with a passion; they limited her mobility and made her feel unnaturally exposed, on top of forcing her to be careful how she sat down or bent over.

 _The Army can send women into combat, but can’t authorize a trouser option for our formal uniforms._  

Fitz had wanted to wear her dress blues tonight, because that uniform did have a trouser option for women, but had lost a battle of wills with the protocol officer at the American embassy, a tiny woman who glared at her from behind black-framed glasses and told her, “absolutely not, it would be an insult to Queen Elsa to show up in anything less than your formal mess uniform!  You are a Fitzwilliam - I expect better from you!”

She had even threatened to call Fitz’s _mother_.

Fitz had caved.  But only to avoid insulting Queen Elsa, not because she was afraid of what her mother might think.  Or say.  _Nope, not that at all._

At least the formal skirt was long; it saved her from the indignity of panty hose and high heels, instead allowing her to get away with knee-highs and flats.  She’d almost worn her boots in protest, but the sight of the evil little woman’s thumb hovering over the ‘Call’ button on her phone squashed the nascent rebellion.

_How does it suck to have a famous general for a father?  Oh, let me count the ways._

But Fitz _had_ worn her formal cape, despite the imp woman’s strenuous objections.

She sighed and slipped her shoes off to flex her toes.  The flats weren’t uncomfortable, not like heels, but she wasn’t used to wearing them, and it had been a long evening.  She wondered how Bit was holding up.  He was wearing a brace on his bad knee, and all the standing around had to be bothering him. 

On the other hand, he got to wear _trousers_ with his blue mess uniform, so her sympathy was in short supply.

The evening had begun with the signing ceremony for the Kohro Accords in the Nasjonsting, Arendelle’s parliament. From there, they moved to the Great Hall of the Castle, where Queen Elsa stood in front of her throne, Princess Anna to her right, and presented Bit Lockhart with the Purple Crocus with Sword, Arendelle’s second-highest award for valor. Fitz was awarded Saint Tove’s Medal, for services to the Crown.  After that, Queen Elsa inducted them both into the Royal Order of Saint Tove, Arendelle’s order of chivalry.

Then, in what Fitz was certain was a massive breach of royal protocol, Princess Anna had given both of them big hugs. 

A formal dinner followed the investiture ceremony, and now they were all in the Grand Ballroom for drinks and dancing.  Fitz felt a grudging admiration for the stamina of the Royal sisters.  Their shoes were a lot more uncomfortable than hers. 

She looked down at her Saint Tove’s Medal, a simple bronze cross with the Arendelle crocus centered on the front, suspended from her neck by a white ribbon with red trim. Fitz’s name and rank were engraved on the back of the cross.  Fitz wondered briefly how Queen Elsa had known about her promotion to lieutenant colonel – she’d gotten official word herself only a few days before coming to Arendelle, and barely had time to get the rank insignia for her dress uniform changed.

_She has a secret service, genius._

She couldn’t help comparing the medal’s austere elegance to the gaudy platter that the Muscovians had given to Princess Anna.  “Elsa won’t let me wear it,” the Princess had confided to Fitz earlier.  “She says it makes me look like a character from a Sigmund Romberg operetta.”

Fitz let out a little snort.  “Well, unlike the Muscos, the Arendellans definitely go for understatement.”

“Thanks,” a soft voice behind her said.  “I think?”

“Your Majesty!”  Fitz leaped up, stumbling over her shoes. She stood to attention, praying that Queen Elsa wouldn’t notice that she was in her stocking feet.  “I…um…I was just…er… _appreciating_ the award that you so generously presented to me.”  Over Elsa’s shoulder, she saw Revel Handler step back into the ballroom, closing the balcony door behind him.

“Hopefully you can find room for it on your uniform,” Elsa said with a little smile.  “You have an impressive collection of medals, Colonel.  Oh, and congratulations on your promotion.”

Fitz flushed.  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Elsa stepped closer and tinked a perfectly manicured fingernail against one of the medals on Fitz’s lapel.  “I’ll admit that don’t know all of the American award protocols,” she said, quirking one eyebrow, “but I do know that they don’t pass out the Distinguished Flying Cross for ferrying queens around in your Blackhawk.”

Fitz swallowed hard at Elsa’s proximity.  The woman she’d flown around Central Africa was pretty in her jeans and t-shirt, like a college girl headed for a football game, but the queen in front of her now…

Elsa’s hair was up in an intricate bun, topped off by a tiny gold tiara with a flawless sapphire in the center.  Her makeup was understated, and teardrop diamonds sparkled at her ears and throat.  Her dress…oh God, her dress…glimmering in varying hues of blue, strapless with a sweetheart neckline that showed off a spectacular décolletage.  The subtle hints of jasmine in her perfume made Fitz’s head swim.

_She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met._

She started when she realized that Elsa was speaking to her again.  “Your Majesty?”

“Please sit, Colonel.”  The Queen had arranged herself regally on the bench opposite Fitz’s. Amusement danced in her blue eyes.  She crossed her legs, and the slit in her dress parted to reveal a length of creamy pale thigh. 

Fitz suddenly had trouble drawing breath.  “Yes, Ma’am,” she squeaked, dropping gracelessly to her own bench before her knees gave out.

Elsa gazed out over the fjord, and Fitz tried desperately not to stare at…at…the dress, the damn dress, and everything that it didn’t cover up.  Light sparkled across it as Elsa shifted slightly.  _It’s made of ice_ , Fitz realized, and she had to sit on her hands to keep from reaching out to touch it.

Elsa glanced at her and said, “I apologize for intruding on your quiet.  I just needed a bit of air.  The walls were starting to close in, and if I smile at one more politician, my face may crack.”

“No apology is necessary, Your Majesty.  After all, it’s your home.”

“I was trained for this from the time I could walk,” Elsa said with a wry smile.  “Yet it never gets easier.  I’m not nearly as outgoing as my sister. Anna thrives on these types of things.”

Fitz wasn’t sure what to say, so she said nothing.

Elsa met her eyes.  “I have to thank you again for my sister’s life, Colonel.  She’s brave and has a good heart, but she’s impulsive and more than a little reckless.  I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her.”  She sighed.  “I just hope that her recent…adventure…has matured her some.”

Fitz cleared her throat.  “Your Majesty?”

“Yes?”  Elsa was staring out over the fjord again, a melancholy look on her face.

“Your sister is an amazing woman.  You should be proud of her.”

Elsa gave her a sharp look.  “I am, I assure you,” she said, her voice defensive.

“I’m sure you are.  But…”  Fitz hesitated, uncertain of how her words would be received.

“But what?  Please continue, Colonel, I won’t lop off your head.”  The Queen smiled, but there was an edge to her tone that Fitz did not find reassuring.

“I apologize if I am overstepping my bounds, but … your sister wants nothing more than to be worthy of you.  And she’s looking for her own way of doing that.”

“Her way may very well get her killed.”  Elsa’s voice remained soft, controlled, but a small patch of ice formed at her feet.

“But it didn’t.”  _Not this time, anyway_.  “Your Majesty, I suspect that you want to wrap her in bubble wrap and lock her in her room where she can never get hurt again.”  A faint blush rose in Elsa’s cheeks. _Bullseye!_  She plowed on. “I’m not suggesting you let her be stupid, but let her be Anna.  She has a lot to offer Arendelle as a serving officer, more than she can offer as a Princess.”  

Elsa’s face darkened.  Fitz cringed at the arrogance of her own words.  After all, the Queen of Arendelle was not merely a figurehead – why would the Princess be any different? 

_Maybe if I open my mouth wider, I can get my other foot in there too._

“I’m not sure my blood pressure can handle it.” Elsa looked away, her voice rough.

“Your Majesty, there are plenty of royal brats running around the Continent, most of them staples in the tabloids who spend money they don’t have on stuff they don’t need.  Your sister can be so much more, if you let her.”  Fitz shut up.  She knew the Queen could ruin her career with a word if she had been offended.  

_Go big or go home, Fitz._

Elsa kept her eyes focused on something only she could see.  The silence dragged on for long minutes.  “I promised I would never pin her wings,” she said finally, her voice so soft Fitz strained to understand her.  She stood and Fitz jumped to attention again. “Thank you for reminding me of what’s important, Colonel.  No wonder Anna admires you so.  I shall take your words to heart.”

And with a swish of her train, she was gone, the balcony doors opening to admit her back to the ballroom and her duties.

 

*****

 

His position at a table along the back wall of the ballroom had a number of advantages, Bit Lockhart thought.  The chairs were comfortable, he could see everything happening on the dance floor while being partially concealed in shadows, and – most importantly – it was close to the bar.  One of the barman, who was almost certainly an off-duty serviceman, had not let Bit’s glass dip below three-quarters full all evening.

He took a healthy swallow of his drink, savoring the flavor of the high-end scotch. Revel tried hard to sell him on akvavit, Arendelle’s national drink of choice, but Bit liked his scotch, or in a pinch, a good bourbon.  As far as he was a concerned, a drink that wasn’t amber wasn’t much of a drink at all.  And it looked like Arendelle Castle spared no expense when it came to booze, no matter what color it was.

Out on the main floor, he could see Princess Anna gliding through a dance with Captain Vasilek, who was in Arendelle as part of the Muscovian delegation.  _Being related to the president has its privileges, I guess_.  He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy: Vasilek moved gracefully around the floor, with no sign that he’d been wounded in the leg three months ago.  Youth definitely had its perks.

The LT didn’t show any outward signs of her wounds either, laughing as Vasilek comically dipped her.  Bit was finding it a little difficult to reconcile the elegant princess in the beautiful green ball gown with the fearless, dirt-covered young lieutenant he’d followed into the jungles of Central Africa.

He chuckled.  Why should that be any harder to believe than a broken-down old Army sergeant becoming a knight of the Order of Saint Tove?  Queen Elsa had even dubbed him and Fitz with an ancient Viking sword almost as big as the Queen herself.

He fingered the red sash of the Order, which crossed his chest from right shoulder to left hip, wondering what Terri would think if she could see him now.  His ex-wife had always been more ambitious for him than he had been for himself, and his refusal to leave the Army for a more lucrative civilian career had been one of the biggest reasons for their break-up.

_She’d shit a brick if she knew that I got a medal for rescuing a princess and got knighted by a queen, and that I’m at a fancy royal ball wearing an expensive blue mess uniform._

He laughed out loud at that thought.  He’d never seen the need to own a formal mess uniform, but Fitz had talked him into buying one.  “What the hell, Bit,” she’d said, “you’re going to a royal diplomatic function.  You’re on terminal leave, so you’re technically still in the Army.  Write it off your taxes as a business expense.”

So he did.

Princess Anna and Captain Vasilek had moved off the dance floor and were talking near one of the refreshment tables.  Her hands moved animatedly as she spoke, and suddenly one of them shot out in an expansive gesture that clocked Vasilek upside his head.  The princess winced as Vasilek rubbed his temple.

Bit grinned.  _Okay, maybe not too elegant_.

“Hard to believe she’s royalty sometimes, isn’t it?” came a voice from the shadows just over his shoulder.

Bit clambered to his feet.  “Your Majesty.  I’m sorry, I didn’t see you come up.”

Elsa waved off the apology.  “How is your knee?  I understand it had to be surgically repaired?”

“Yes, ma’am.  It’s getting stronger every day.  The rehab is going really well.” 

“I take it your physical activity is still fairly restricted?” 

“Yes ma’am, but – ”  Bit turned when she glanced past him with an anxious expression.  He saw a handsome man with thick red sideburns bearing down on them.  One quick look at the Queen’s resigned face and comprehension dawned.  “Your Majesty, would you care to dance?”

“But your knee…?”

He grinned at her.  “I’m wearing my brace.  As long as you’re not expecting me to break dance, I think I can manage a few turns for the Queen of Arendelle.”

She beamed with gratitude.  “I would love to dance with you, Sergeant Lockhart.”

They went out onto the dance floor.  A waltz started up and Bit said a silent thank-you to his ex-wife as he led the Queen in a basic box step.  Every decent gentleman should know how to waltz, Terri Lockhart always said.  He let out a quiet chuckle at the thought.  _Bet she never thought I’d be waltzing with a queen._

The Queen tilted her head to look up at him.  “Something amusing?” she asked.

“Just wondering what my ex would think, Your Majesty,” Bit explained.  “She made me take lessons so that we wouldn’t look foolish when we had our first dance after our wedding.  This is the first time I’ve used those lessons since then.”

 “Hope they were worth it.”

“Definitely. If for no other reason than they saved me from embarrassing myself in front of all these important people.”

Queen Elsa laughed.  It lit up her whole face.  Bit could understand why Fitz was so stupid for this woman.  She was certainly one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met.

_I wonder if Fitz ever washed that flight jacket.  Probably not.  Hell, she probably sleeps with it._

Princess Anna waltzed by, looking distinctly unhappy with her new dance partner, a rotund little man with a pencil moustache whose head was barely level with the princess’ chin. 

 _Help me_ , she mouthed.  Queen Elsa said something to her in Norwegian, and the princess stuck out her tongue.  Her dance partner was oblivious, his long nose blissfully pressed into Anna’s cleavage.

“Just reminding her that not all royal duties are glamourous,” Elsa said when Bit gave her a questioning look.

“Did she draw the short straw?”

“Something like that,” the Queen said with a sly smile.

“Of course, you could be dancing with Handsome Ginger Sideburns over there, instead of a big ugly American soldier,” Bit joked.  He glanced over at the red-haired man, who glowered at them, his arms crossed over his chest.  “He doesn’t look too happy.”

“He’ll get over it,” the Queen said, a bite in her voice.  “I may never get out of your debt, though.  First you rescued my sister, and now you’ve rescued me.”

Bit smiled.  “My pleasure, Your Majesty.  But I have to say that it was a lot easier to rescue you than it was your sister.”

Her face fell, and Bit wondered if he’d said the wrong thing.  Then she gave him a mischievous smile and said, “But you did it.  In fact, you’re one of a select few that have ever been able to keep up with her.  I think that would be a perfect fit for a former Green Beret who has recently found himself on the job market.”

He stopped dancing so suddenly that he almost caused her to stumble.  “Ma’am?”

“I’m offering you a job, Master Sergeant Lockhart.  As Princess Anna’s personal bodyguard.”  She laughed lightly at his dumbstruck expression.  “If it helps, think of it as…Extreme Babysitting.”

“I…er…but…why me, Your Majesty?”

The Queen sighed.  “Anna’s been ditching her bodyguards since she was old enough to walk.  She even managed to lose one on a nearly deserted beach once.  Yet you were able to keep up with her and protect her in the middle of the jungle.” 

 _Not entirely,_ Bit thought.

“And she likes you.  She respects you, and she listens to you,” Elsa continued.  “You’re a soldier, and a good one, if your record is any indication.  Despite what your government may think,” she added acidly. 

Bit regained his composure and said, “I’m not done with rehab, Your Majesty.  I’m not sure I could keep up with her with this knee.”

“Anna has applied for flight training.”  The Queen scowled.  “She thinks I don’t know about that.  Anyway, I have it on good authority that she will be accepted as soon as she passes the proper physical.  In the meantime, she’s on light duty at the garrison here in Arendelle City.  Between that and flight school, you’ll have plenty of time to complete your rehab here.”

Bit stared at her.  Was this Revel’s doing? Or was it the Queen’s idea?  She had obviously given it a lot of thought.  “I…I don’t know what to say, Your Majesty.”

“Say yes.”

“…Yes?”

“Wonderful!”  She gave him a brilliant smile.

Her next words were cut off by a shout, followed by a loud crash.  The band stopped playing.  Then Princess Anna’s voice rang clearly through the sudden quiet: “ _Du jævla_ _drittsekk_!!”

They both whipped around to see the princess standing over her dance partner, who was sprawled on the floor next to an overturned refreshment table. He scuttled backward as Anna advanced on him, fists clenched and face red with fury.

“Language, Anna,” Elsa murmured.  She shook her head.  “Duty calls.  Thank you for the dance.”

“My pleasure, Your Majesty.”

She started to walk away, then looked back over her shoulder.  “Oh, and Sergeant Lockhart?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Welcome to Arendelle.”  She flashed him another smile, then headed across the floor to deal with her sister as uniformed security people converged on the scene.

Bit shook his head and grinned as one of guards dragged the fat little man out of reach of Princess Anna’s fists. 

_Looks like retirement might not be so boring after all._

 


End file.
